


Into the Heart of a Child (I Can Smile)

by pinksky_redclouds



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ah yes a nine year old child tags along with our gang of apocalypse-stopping heroes, Aka MODERN TECHNOLOGY EXISTS, Allison Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And she's the best mom, Everyone protects everyone ok, F/M, First chap is short but it gets longer, Gen, I don't know why the lack of the Internet in TUA makes me salty but it does, I'll fight for her, Luther/Allison past relationship, Protectiveness, Slow Burn, The answer is Probably A Lot, What Could Possibly Go Wrong?, Yes the tags are a mess sue me, a lot of divergency here, rewrite of the whole first season but with Claire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinksky_redclouds/pseuds/pinksky_redclouds
Summary: Allison Hargreeves built a life on lies, spreading her rumors to keep secrets. There are things she knows about her daughter Claire that she was once willing to do anything to keep people from finding out, until she swore off using her power to hurt other people. Patrick found out her secret, and her life came crashing down - but she still had her daughter, and she still had her family.And when Number Five returns from the future, warning of an impending apocalypse, Allison is willing to do whatever it takes to save the world - not only for the sake of everyone else, but to give her daughter the life she deserves.





	1. The Orchid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tvvinktown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvvinktown/gifts).

> Hello everybody! I'm back, with another TUA fic! This one is just a smaller side project that rewrites s1 and that's about it, so hopefully, we should be done pretty soon! This story is fairly Alluther and Claire-centric, but we will have plenty of Fiveya as well (yay for canon divergence!) I hope you like it! (And, yes, the title is from a song lyric, though I can't recall which song right now, lol.)

"_I heard a rumor that you love me."_

To Allison Hargreeves, the lie was a necessary one to tell. It wasn't so much that she wanted Patrick to herself, but rather that she needed to get married in order to manifest another lie—one that she couldn't rumor into existence without using him. After the fact, she felt guilty, of course, but reasoned that it was for the best. All for the good of the lie that needed to be carefully maintained. And as time went on, she kept tending to it with that same great care, like an orchid in a vase. And the seed was planted with that first rumor.

Claire was born. Allison was congratulated on her beautiful family, both by her friends and the media. The orchid burst from the soil.

The orchid that was Allison's lie grew with her daughter, blooming bright and beautiful as Claire became a star in her own right. The magazines and daytime gossip programs had plenty of good things to say about the beautiful daughter of one of the world's sweethearts.

Of course, petals fell here and there—the occasional remark from a reporter about how quickly she and her husband had Claire, or even just how quickly they took steps in their relationship. She brushed them all off, but each time felt a shard of cold fear in her heart, turning the blood to ice in her veins.

Claire was two the first time Allison could not get her to stop crying. The stress of motherhood finally got to her, and in a split second, Allison decided to risk her lie: _"I heard a rumor that you stopped crying." _A leaf fell from the stem of the flower.

She promised herself it would only be that one time. And, for the sake of the lie, Allison kept her promise. Patrick was none the wiser.

On Claire's third birthday, Allison received a letter in the mail. She almost dropped it when she read the return address: it had been sent from the Academy, courtesy of Luther Hargreeves. After her marriage, she hadn't expected to ever hear from him again, but now here he was sending a letter to her door. And yet, she could not be angry with him—the man who called himself their father had manipulated him for his own gain. It wasn't Luther's fault that he stayed and she left. That night, she wept over his words, and refused to tell Patrick what was wrong. More petals fell.

Claire was five years old when Allison received the news that her father had sent Luther to the moon. She spent a miserable hour sobbing in her bathroom, then took her daughter to the library. She'd need books about the moon if she was going to tell Claire stories about him. Allison finally spoke of her years at the Umbrella Academy, and Claire idolized her dear uncle Luther. Though more guilt came when her daughter asked about Vanya. Patrick asked why she was suddenly telling Claire stories, and wasn't satisfied with the answers she gave. Allison knew she could have simply rumored him to forget they'd ever had that conversation, but she'd sworn it off. She would no longer add to the lies that she knew her life was built on.

With that decision, a crack formed in the vase as her husband's suspicion of her grew.

When Claire was six years old, her powers manifested. Allison had no idea if the abilities she and her six siblings shared were hereditary, if they were a part of their genetic makeup or something else entirely—needless to say, she was blindsided.

With almost no effort at all, Claire had lifted up the kitchen table and carried it over to the living room, to aid in the blanket fort she was making. A little while later, Allison made her promise to never do anything like that when her father was around. Claire swore up and down that she wouldn't.

But, like any six-year-old, her daughter was careless, and Patrick found out. Allison lied to him, swearing that she hadn't known for long—only a few days. It had in fact been three weeks. And Claire, when asked about it later by her father, told him that. Despite Allison's fear when he confronted her again, she thanked every god that may have been listening that her daughter was not like her.

Claire was not a liar.

A few years passed. Allison and Patrick fought more frequently over small things. The cracks spread in the vase, and the orchid began to wither.

Claire wanted to know why her mommy and daddy were fighting, and Allison reassured her that all couples fought sometimes, and she had nothing to worry about. And for a few months after her daughter turned eight, Allison's world was peaceful. She started to hope that everything would go back to normal.

Then one day, when Claire was sleeping over at a friend's house, Patrick informed her that he knew everything, and he wanted a divorce. When she asked him what he could have possibly meant by "everything," he admitted that he'd gone through her things and found the letter Luther sent her six years before. He knew that she and Luther used to be close, and that Claire could have only gotten her power from him.

He told her he knew that Claire was Luther's daughter, not his. And he knew she'd used him to hide it. For that reason, he'd be leaving as soon as he could.

A DNA test proved she wasn't his. The divorce was finalized fairly quickly since he didn't want anything other than some of his old stuff—she could keep the house, the car, and whatever else she liked, as long as he didn't have to speak to Allison.

The orchid shriveled and died, the vase splintering into a thousand pieces as it shattered. It had been delicate and precarious, as Allison's life constructed by lies had been.

She got full custody of her daughter, and Patrick informed the court that he did not want visitation at the time, stating that he needed time for himself to work through things—though he promised Claire that she could call him if she wanted to.

Allison knew that his anger at her was blinding the genuine love she knew he felt for Claire, though she could not help but hate him for breaking her daughter's heart. She wanted to scream at him.

_Claire doesn't understand! She only knows _you_ as her real father, and she thinks you're leaving her._

Thankfully, the true circumstances behind Allison's divorce remained hidden from the press. Claire got to live in the same house. Allison was far from out of a job. Her life went on.

And she'd take that very first secret that had brought her life crashing down to her grave.

Eight months after the divorce was finalized, Allison received the news of the death of her father, Reginald Hargreeves. Which meant she'd have to return to her childhood home for the funeral. For a moment, Allison considered getting a babysitter, but her daughter wanted very badly to meet her aunt and uncles, no matter the circumstance. And Allison herself wanted Luther to meet his daughter, even if neither of them could ever know the truth about who they were to each other.

So she packed a black dress for Claire, booked a flight, and headed to the Umbrella Academy, having not been there for almost ten years.

At the doorstep, Allison had to allow herself to take a deep breath and take the time to think. It would be hard, seeing everyone again after years of estrangement. She had no idea if any of them had stayed in touch with each other or their father, and was less than eager to find out what they thought of her. She closed her eyes, stilling herself as she pulled open the front door.

_Here we go again…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is a pretty short chapter, but it's really the prologue. A setup for everything else, as it were. I felt that it was necessary for it to get its own chapter, for plot flow reasons.  
Anyway, see y'all soon!


	2. Rain and Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward family reunion. Claire is the only one oblivious to family drama. Some shit goes down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot stress enough my thanks for your patience. I really hope you guys like this, and if you can, please comment. No matter what you say, I love it. :)   
Small note, I will now be putting episode-blurb style summaries on each of my chapters.

Vanya Hargreeves did not like the rain. It wasn't getting wet or having to stay indoors that bothered her, but rather the way the sky turned gray and cast a gloomy pallor over the world. It made everything seem bleak. And it brought up old memories she'd rather not dwell on.

She was walking in the rain when she saw the news that her father had died playing from a television screen in a store window. It was enough to make her stop in her tracks and stare for almost a full minute in disbelief. Of course, neither she nor her siblings were particularly attached to their father, but the news of his death was still a shock—it had seemed as though he'd live on forever.

"Dad…" she said softly. Then, as if on cue, her cell phone chimed, and she was greeted with a text from Allison, asking if she'd heard the news. Another message followed, telling her to get to the Academy as soon as possible for the funeral. Rather than reply, Vanya hailed a cab and gave the driver her destination.

She'd be going back to that old house after many years away from it. She'd always been the outsider, the one who never belonged, and it had been reflected in how her siblings treated her. She had no idea how they'd react to seeing her, especially not since she'd published her autobiography. Allison might not be cold, since they'd occasionally kept in touch over the years, but everything else was completely uncertain.

When Vanya reached the Academy, she got out of the cab and paid the driver, then turned to walk towards the house. She fought back the growing apprehension rising in her chest as she slowly pushed open the front door, staring at the patterns in the glass. The grand foyer itself was completely empty of people, and the furniture was the same as it always had been—old, expensive, and without a speck of dust.

Vanya circled the room slowly, eyes towards the ceiling as she gazed at the intricate chandelier that she'd spent years around growing up. Then she turned to her left and walked to the entryway of the main parlor, where a young blonde woman sat, seemingly staring at nothing. She was dressed in one of the same outfits she'd worn for almost 30 years: a frilly sky-blue dress and a white apron. Her hair was perfectly curled back behind her ears, not touching her shoulders. She appeared to be lost in her head.

"Hey, Mom," Vanya said softly, stepping towards the room. There was no response from her, so Vanya repeated herself. "Mom?" Her mother only kept staring into space with a strangely calm expression. That was odd—their mother had never ignored any of them before.

"Vanya?" the voice made her turn her head, and Vanya caught sight of Allison headed down the stairs, leaning on the railing. The years had been kind to her sister, who somehow looked younger than she did despite being the exact same age, and her hair was long and curled into perfect ringlets, bleached blonde at the ends. Allison had always been the beautiful one, and while Vanya had never really envied her for her looks, she'd sometimes wondered what it was like to be the favored daughter.

When their eyes met, Allison smiled, and Vanya shakily returned the gesture. Her sister moved away from the stairs and walked towards her, looking almost pleased. "You're actually here. I wasn't sure if you'd gotten my messages," she said, chuckling slightly. Vanya shook her head awkwardly, eyes dropping to the floor. "No, I did," she replied. "It's just… I already knew. I saw it on TV, so…"

A sudden thumping sound that could only mean rapid footfalls emanated from the stairwell, and Vanya turned in time to see a smaller carbon copy of Allison running down the stairs—surprisingly, in Vanya's direction, with a huge grin on her face. In a flash, Vanya realized that the little girl must have been Claire, Allison's daughter. _And my niece_, she thought.

"AUNTIE VANYA!" Claire shouted at full volume, all but launching herself at Vanya as she ran across the foyer. Claire barreled into her at full force, wrapping her arms around her waist in a tight hug. Vanya had to laugh, even if she was thrown a bit off-balance by her niece's abrupt show of affection. "Hey, kiddo," she said warmly, stepping back a bit so that she could bend down to Claire's level. "You must be Claire."

She nodded excitedly, still beaming. "Mommy told me all about you! She said you play the violin!"

A bit of anxiety welled up in Vanya's chest at the thought of Allison telling stories about Vanya to her daughter, wondering what her sister may have said—although, judging by how delighted Claire was to see her, it couldn't have been anything too bad. So, she gave Claire a warm smile and nodded. "Yes, I do play the violin."

"Do you have it? Can I see it? Or try it?" Claire asked a series of questions very rapidly, and Vanya glanced apprehensively up at her sister. Allison shrugged, letting Vanya answer Claire. "Maybe later, okay? I actually teach a lot of kids, and if you really wanna try, you can ask your mom about it _later_; and I can show you a few things if she says it's okay."

Vanya looked back up at Allison, who smiled in approval and nodded. Vanya got to her feet, only to be hugged by Claire once more. "I'm glad I got to meet you, auntie Vanya." Vanya hugged her back, smiling down at her. "I'm glad I got to meet you too, sweetie." Allison, in turn, smiled at Vanya. "Hey, sis. Are you doing okay?"

She sighed and nodded. "I'm fine." There was a pause, then Claire scuttled off towards the parlor. Allison turned to her daughter and reminded her not to go too far or bother Grace, and after she promised she wouldn't, Allison focused on her sister again. "She's adorable," Vanya said, looking in Claire's direction. "She looks just like you."

Allison chuckled. "She's been wanting to play violin for ages, so that she could be more like her favorite aunt. But, uh… Patrick wouldn't let her. He never told me why, and it's not like I was gonna go behind his back, so…" she shrugged. "She really looks up to you, you know."

"I heard about your divorce," Vanya said softly. "And I just want you to know that I'm really sorry about—"

Allison sighed, waving a dismissive hand. "Don't be. I mean, Claire took it pretty hard, but… in the end, I think we'll be better off. I just… don't like to talk about it." Vanya nodded in understanding and opened her mouth, about to say something else, when a voice sounded from another room, and their brother Diego walked into the foyer.

"What is _she_ doing here?" He directed that at Vanya, and with obvious contempt in his voice. "You don't belong here. Not after what you did."

Allison moved to stand between the two, one hand on her hip as she stared down Diego. "You're seriously gonna do this today? When my daughter's in the other room?"

Diego stared at her incredulously. "She is? I thought you would've gotten someone to watch her, considering how you wanted to forget we existed when you left." He turned and started to walk up the stairs, ignoring them. "Diego!" Allison called out. When there was no response, she rolled her eyes. "Way to dress for the occasion, by the way."

"At least I'm wearing black," he replied, not even stopping to acknowledge the little girl peering around the corner of the hallway. "Was that uncle Diego?" Her eyes were wide, and her words came out in a whisper. "He looked mad."

Allison sighed and shook her head. "Don't worry about it, honey. I think he's just in a bad mood." Vanya twirled a strand of hair around in her fingers, glancing nervously at her sister. "You know what? Maybe he's right, and I shouldn't—"

"Forget about him," Allison replied, smiling at her. "I'm glad you're here." Vanya smiled back. Then she turned her head towards where Claire had been hiding, and her eyes widened when she realized Claire was gone. "Allison, did you see Claire leave the room?"

"What? No, I—Claire? Claire, where are you?"

* * *

"_Can you think of a single time when you saw Dad and he wasn't wearing that monocle?_"

Claire paused in the upstairs hallway at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, peeking around the corner. Her uncle Diego was sitting back in a chair, looking up at a very tall, muscular man who stood back in the corner of the room. "No," the other man continued. "Which means someone took it. Which means there's a chance he wasn't alone when he died."

What were they talking about? Claire suddenly realized that she wasn't really supposed to be listening, but she stayed where she was.

Diego sighed. "Look, there is no mystery here. Nothing to avenge, nothing to solve. It's just a sad old man who kicked it in a big, empty house." Then, he froze, as if he sensed someone was watching him. "I think we have a shadow, Luther."

That was her uncle Luther? Claire shuffled to the side, hoping he wouldn't see her, but his head had turned towards Diego. "You're being paranoid, Diego, there's no one there." Diego ignored his brother, turning his head to one side. Claire decided then that she had better leave, and she trotted off down the hall. Neither of them saw her.

She hoped her mother wouldn't be too mad at her for wandering off.

* * *

Vanya paced through the main parlor, calling out to her niece. "Claire? Are you in here?" She paused, stopping to glance at the walls covered in old memorabilia, and to run her fingers over the cover of the book she'd written. There was still no response from Claire, so she tried again. "Claire, if you're trying to scare us, it's not funny. You could get lost in here."

When Vanya didn't hear anything, she assumed that Claire must have gone upstairs, which was just as well—Allison was looking for her up there. She sighed, taking the autobiography off the shelf. Vanya stared at the note she'd made to her father, then turned it over to examine the back cover. There was no evidence of wear, and it wouldn't have surprised her if he'd never read it at all.

A sudden voice broke her from her thoughts. "Welcome home, Miss Vanya."

She turned around, and came face-to-face with Pogo, one of the only people in her family who was kind to her in childhood. He hadn't changed a bit over the years, and he still wore the same elegant suit that was not unlike her father's preference in clothing, and still had the small cane he walked with. "Pogo," she said warmly, walking over and bending down to hug him.

"So good to see you," he said kindly, smiling at her. His eyes were happy beneath the half-moon glasses perched on his nose. Then he looked down at her hands, nodding at the book she was holding. "Ah, yes. Your autobiography." Vanya sighed. "Do you know, um… did he ever read it?"

Pogo didn't respond right away, as if he was thinking it over carefully. Then he shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of."

Of course he hadn't. He never really cared about her, anyway—her or the others. He'd just wanted an army. He'd used them all for his own gain, and two of them were gone because of it. Ben's statue sat out in the courtyard as a painful reminder of what could happen, and the oil painting of the other lost one hung above the fireplace in that very room. Number Five, her childhood best friend, the one who had bothered to listen to her for all those years—and then he was gone, leaving her with no one but herself. All that was left of him was the painting on the wall. He looked the same as he had in life: calm, intelligent—if a bit arrogant, and seemingly unaffected by everything around him. An old ache resurfaced in her chest as she stared at the painting, and she turned to Pogo.

"How long has it been since Five disappeared?"

Pogo sighed. "It's been sixteen years, four months, and fourteen days." He smiled slightly. "Your father insisted I keep track."

"You wanna know something stupid? I always used to leave the lights on for him." She glanced back at the painting, letting out a heavy sigh. "I was scared that he would come back, it would be late, and the house would be dark, and he wouldn't be able to find us, so he'd leave again. So, every night I would… make a little snack, and make sure all the lights were on." Pogo chuckled fondly at the memory. "Oh, I remember your snacks. I'm pretty sure I stepped in half those peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches."

Vanya smiled shakily. "Sometimes I think… I still see him. In the corner of my eye, or right after I wake up in the morning. But it's more like a feeling than anything else. I just… I just miss him."

Pogo nodded, giving her a look of sympathy. "Your father always believed that Number Five was still out there somewhere. He never lost hope." She didn't respond, instead opting to glance around the room. "You haven't… seen a little girl, have you? Allison brought Claire, and she wandered off. We've been looking for her."

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. But I'll be sure to inform Miss Allison if I find anything."

* * *

Claire stood in the doorway of what looked to be a large office, with a fancy desk and leather chair in the center of the room. The carpet on the floor was old and dusty, and the furniture lining the walls, save for the desk, was covered in junk: old books and stacks of paper. There was a typewriter on the desk, which Claire thought was unusual—no one really used typewriters anymore. A strange painting of an old man in a suit hung from the far wall. Claire walked further into the room, attempting to get a better look at everything.

Then she heard the clatter, and the sound of drawers opening and closing. Someone was behind the desk, and they were going through it. A man's voice sounded from back there, muttering to himself. "Where's the cash, Dad? Come on…"

More shuffling. Claire stepped towards the desk apprehensively, tilting her head. "Hello? Who's there?" Almost immediately, a head popped up. The man had messy dark hair and blue eyes, and he seemed to be wearing some kind of fur coat. He grinned at Claire, laughing in disbelief. "Allison, did you shrink?"

"I'm _Claire_," she shot back, annoyed. Clearly, the man must have been crazy. His eyes widened, and he got up from the floor, almost tripping over himself. "Wait a minute, are you Allie's kid?" She nodded, and he ran out from behind the desk, dropping to one knee when he was in front of her. "I guess that would make me your uncle Klaus, then."

Claire grinned. He seemed nice, even if he was a little weird. She took a step forward and, when he opened his arms, gave him a hug. Klaus laughed, hugging her back. "It is so good to _finally_ meet my favorite niece."

"But I'm your only niece," she replied, giggling. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I don't care, you're still my favorite." He looked up just in time to see Allison enter the room, and Claire turned around at the sound of her mother's voice.

"Klaus? What are you doing in here with my daughter?"

Claire grinned at that. "Hi, Mommy." Allison smiled down at her, and Klaus scrambled to his feet and walked towards his sister. "Allison!" He exclaimed happily, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. "How have you been?" She returned the hug, but didn't answer his question.

He pulled back slightly, resting his hands on her elbows. "Wow, you look _amazing_! And Claire is just—she could be your clone, Allie. I'm serious." He sighed. "It's been way too long. I was hoping to see you, actually, because I wanted to get your autograph. Add it to my collection!" He singsonged the last bit, giving her what Claire knew her mother called puppy eyes.

Allison gave him a small smile, then grabbed hold of his wrist, staring at the bracelet he had on it. "Just out of rehab?" He shook his head, turning away from her as he fiddled with the wristband. "No. No, no, no, no. I'm done with all that." Klaus let out a heavy sigh, turning back to face her. "I just came down here to prove to myself that the old man was really gone."

Claire tilted her head in confusion, and was about to say something, when her uncle grinned and clapped his hands together. "And he is! He's dead!"

"Who?" Claire finally asked, looking at Klaus. "Who's dead?" He sat down at the desk chair, gesturing to the portrait of the old man behind him. "Oh, Claire, my dear innocent niece. You see that man up there, in the painting? _That_ is Sir Reginald Hargreeves, the crackpot that adopted us when we were babies! I always thought he was too stubborn to die, but he finally kicked the bucket." He glanced at Allison. "And you know how I know for sure? Because if he were alive, not _one_ of us would be allowed to set foot in this room." He fixed his eyes on Claire, raising a finger to his lips. "We should still be quiet, though, in case his ghost can hear us," Klaus whispered, and Claire nodded very seriously, raising a finger to her own lips in an imitation of him. "Shh!" Allison laughed.

Another voice sounded from the doorway. "Get out of his chair." Claire turned around at the same time as the others looked up, and found Luther had joined them in the office as well. She wanted to say something, but his focus was entirely on Klaus—who was currently staring at his brother in complete shock. "Wow, Luther, you really, uh, filled out over the years."

"Klaus," Luther said sternly, and Klaus raised his hands in surrender and walked out from behind the desk. "All right, save the lecture. I was already leaving. You guys can… talk amongst yourselves." He ruffled Claire's hair, smiling at her. "See you in a bit, kid." Without another word, he disappeared through the office door and slammed it shut behind him.

Luther glanced at Allison. "So, Klaus is still Klaus, in case you were wondering. I should've checked to see if he stole anything, now that I think about—" He started to turn back towards the door, only to be stopped by Allison. "Wait. Don't worry about Klaus right now."

She sighed, stepping closer to him. There was a sad smile on her face. "I haven't seen you in years." Allison paused, opening her mouth to say something else, only to be interrupted by Claire running forward. "Uncle Luther!" She wrapped her arms around his legs, laughing happily.

Luther flinched in surprise, and Allison beckoned for Claire to step back. "Careful, Claire," she chided gently. "Give him some space."

"Oh, sorry," she said immediately, taking a few steps back. "Hi!" She amended, waving at him. He gave her a tiny smile. "Hi, Claire," he said softly. "It's, um… it's nice to meet you."

"Claire," Allison said softly. "I need to talk to Luther for a few minutes. Why don't you go look for Vanya? You can tell her I said it was okay for you to practice the violin with her later." Claire's eyes lit up. "Really?" When her mother nodded, she grinned. "Okay, Mommy. I can come back after I tell her though, right?"

"Of course," Allison murmured. "Now go on. We'll just be a few minutes." Claire nodded and ran for the door, slamming it just as loudly as Klaus had when it shut behind her. Luther had to smile as he watched her leave, before turning back to face Allison. "She seemed happy to see me."

Allison nodded. "I used to tell Claire stories about you. And the others. She's been wanting to meet you for a while. All of you, really, but… especially you."

"Really?" He asked, surprised, and she nodded again, grinning. "Yeah. Ever since I told her you were up on the moon, she idolized you. I mean, you were her own personal superhero." Allison chuckled fondly. "Claire says she wants to be either an astronaut or a dancer. She hasn't decided yet."

Luther smiled. "You know, she really looks just like you. It's almost a little… surreal." Allison laughed, shrugging as she looked up towards the ceiling. "Why does everyone keep saying that? You're the third person to comment on it today."

He shrugged, then let out a sigh. "I, um… I wasn't sure you'd come." Allison looked down, fidgeting with a small gold spyglass she'd taken off the mantle behind her. "Yeah, me neither. But Claire had been begging me for the last year, at least, to meet all of you, and… I didn't wanna deny her that."

"Where's Patrick?" Luther asked, as he positioned some small objects that had been moved around on the other, junk-crammed desk. "Did he come with you?" Allison sighed, setting down the spyglass. She walked around the desk slowly, leaning against the front of it. "That's right, you don't know; you've been gone. Patrick… filed for divorce eight months ago."

His eyes widened, and Luther took a few steps closer to her. "Shit. Allison, I'm sorry. Is there anything—"

"It's okay. Really," she said tiredly. "I just… try not to think about it. I still have my daughter, the house, my job. It'll take more time still, but things will be okay. Eventually." Luther gave Allison a look of utter sympathy, and a dull ache settled in her chest. She'd missed those kind eyes. His gaze dropped to the floor. "Is Claire doing okay?"

Allison shrugged, sighing sadly. "I really don't know. She doesn't like to talk about it. And some days, she's the way she's always been—happy, playful, talkative. But other times, she gets… really sad. I'm trying to get her mind off it, but sometimes I just… don't know how to help her. Makes me wish it had never happened."

Luther nodded in understanding, taking a few more steps so that he was now directly across from her. "Well, you could always do your, uh… rumor thing." _To make him come back_, she knew he was implying. Allison shook her head, tapping her fingers against the desk. "Yeah, I don't do that anymore."

"What happened?" He asked gently, and she closed her eyes for a moment, thinking back on everything that had occurred since she'd used her power on her ex-husband. Then she let out a sigh. "Same thing that always happens. I told a lie, it came true, and I couldn't take it back. No matter how much I wish I could."

Tentatively, Luther reached out with one hand, placing it on her shoulder. Allison quickly moved forward, leaning on his chest as she wrapped her arms around him. She felt his hands resting gently on her back as he returned the embrace, and she allowed herself a moment to go limp, breathing slowly as she got her emotions under control—it was either that or finally break down for the first time in eight months. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

* * *

The Academy's parlor was characteristically silent. Luther sat at the head of the room, alone on a plush couch close to the fireplace. Vanya sat across from him on an identical piece of furniture, with Claire happily situated next to her. Allison and Diego sat off to the side in two chairs, facing each other. Klaus was hardly even in the room, as he was currently focused on pouring himself a drink at the bar attached to the back wall—Allison had gotten a glass of whiskey from there herself. No one said a word, not even Claire, who was known for being a chatterbox. It was as if she'd sensed the somber mood in the room and gone silent, staring down at her shoes as she swung her feet back and forth.

Luther finally broke the silence, standing up to address the rest of the family. "Um… I guess we should get this started. So, I figured we could have a sort of memorial service in the courtyard at sundown. Say a few words, just at Dad's favorite spot."

"Dad had a favorite spot?" Allison questioned, giving him a confused look. He nodded rapidly. "Yeah, you know, under the oak tree. We used to sit out there all the time. None of you ever did that?" Before anyone else could respond, Klaus came sauntering back over, with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other. "Will there be refreshments? Tea? Scones? Cucumber sandwiches are always a winner."

Klaus grinned, and Luther gave him an incredulous look. "What? No. And put that out, you know you shouldn't smoke around Claire," Luther ordered, gesturing to the cigarette in his brother's hand. Klaus, suddenly looking horrified as he remembered Claire was sitting just a few feet away, snuffed it out against the old couch. He moved across the room so that he could sit next to his niece—though he almost walked right into the coffee table in the process.

"Is that my _skirt_?" Allison questioned as she got a good look at Klaus. Claire leaned forward, giggling as he halfheartedly twirled across the floor, gesturing to himself. "Oh! Yeah, this. I found it in your room. It's a little dated, I know, but it's very breathe-y on the… bits."

"_Klaus_!" Allison glared at him, motioned towards her daughter. "There is a child in the room. _My_ child. Watch your mouth." Said child seemed to have no problem with their exchange, as she was trying very hard not to laugh. Klaus smiled at Claire, flopping down on the sofa next to her.

"Listen up," Luther said sternly. "There are still a couple important things we need to discuss, all right?" From his chair, Diego rolled his eyes. "Like what?" Luther stared at him, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Like the way he died."

"And here we go," Diego drawled, sighing. Claire tensed, and Vanya squeezed her hand comfortingly, even as she regarded Luther with confusion. "I don't understand. I thought they said it was a heart attack."

He nodded. "Yeah, according to the coroner." Vanya tilted her head. "Well, wouldn't they know?" Claire looked towards her aunt. "What's a coroner?"

"Theoretically, they'd know," Luther replied to Vanya, pausing as she whispered to Claire that she ought to ask her mom about it. Allison, meanwhile, had not caught on to what Luther was saying. "Theoretically?" She echoed, leaning forward in her chair as she spoke.

He looked over at her. "I'm just saying, at the very least, something happened. The last time that I talked to Dad, he sounded strange." Klaus leaned back on the sofa, gargling with the alcohol in his mouth. "Oh, _quelle surprise_!" Claire snickered.

"Strange how?" Allison went on. Luther sighed. "He sounded on edge. Told me I should be careful who to trust." Diego rose from his seat, turning towards his brother. "Luther, he was a paranoid, bitter old man who was starting to lose what was left of his marbles."

Luther shook his head. "No, he must have known something was going to happen." He turned towards Klaus. "Look, I know you don't like to do it, but I need you to talk to Dad."

Allison scoffed, and Klaus sighed, leaning back against the sofa. "I can't just call Dad in the afterlife and be like, 'Dad, could you stop playing tennis with Hitler for a moment and take a quick call?'" Claire seemed confused by her uncle's remark, but still let out a snort.

"Since when?" Luther demanded. "That's your thing." Klaus leaned forward, still holding onto his glass of liquor as he gestured dramatically. "I'm not in the right… frame of mind!"

Allison glared at him. "You're high?" Klaus laughed, motioning towards her. "Yeah! Yeah! I mean, how are you not, listening to this… nonsense?"

Claire's eyes went wide. "You're on _drugs_?" Before Klaus could answer her, Luther snapped at him. "Well, sober up, this is important. Then there's the issue of the missing monocle."

Diego sighed in frustration, muttering to himself. "Who gives a shit about a stupid monocle?"

"Language, Diego," Allison scolded him. "I already told Klaus, I don't want to keep reminding all of you." Thankfully, by that point, a device in Claire's pocket dinged, and she briefly had her attention stolen by her cell phone.

Luther, meanwhile, nodded, turning towards Diego. "That's the point. It's worthless. So whoever took it, I think it was personal. Someone close to him. Someone with a grudge."

Klaus looked utterly confused. "Where are you going with this?" Diego chuckled, but it was without humor. "Isn't it obvious, Klaus? He thinks one of us killed Dad."

There was a pause, and Luther suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "I… that's not…"

A gasp came from Klaus. "You do!" Vanya gave Luther a sharp look, her eyes full of hurt. "How could you think that?"

Diego stared his brother down. "Great job, Luther. Way to lead." Luther sighed and looked away from them, towards the floor. "That's not what I'm saying." Diego, in turn, stormed off, ignoring Luther's protests.

Klaus scoffed, rising from the couch with his whiskey still in hand. "You're crazy, man. You're crazy. Crazy," he repeated, heading towards the front entrance. "I've not finished," Luther argued. "There's—"

"Okay, well, sorry, I'm just gonna go murder Mom. Be right back," Klaus replied sarcastically, disappearing down the hallway. Only Allison and Claire remained still, as Vanya too had walked away. Luther turned to face Allison, who was giving him a look that almost reminded him of sheer betrayal. Claire was peering up at him curiously, her big brown eyes surveying the scene with confusion.

"Allison," Luther said softly. "You know I didn't mean—that I didn't mean you." She sighed, her gaze dropping to the floor as she turned the crystal glass over in her fingers. "You still suspect someone in our family of doing such a thing, Luther. And I don't understand why." She stood up, walked past the couch. As she passed by her daughter, Allison did her best to smile. "Come on, Claire."

"Why is everyone fighting?" Claire questioned her mother, turning those weary, confused eyes in Allison's direction. Allison sighed, stepped closer to her daughter and, after stooping to her level, placed one hand on her cheek. "Don't worry about it, honey. We'll work it out later."

Claire didn't even hesitate to reply, a sudden sad look on her face. "That's what you said about you and Dad." Allison flinched, letting out a shaky breath. "It's complicated. This is… different, sweetie. I promise." There was no response from Claire, so Allison took her hand and helped her off the couch. "Come on, you want Mommy to give you a tour? I'll show you my old room." Allison smiled again, and Claire happily walked beside her mother until she noticed Luther practically frozen where he stood, watching them leave. "Can uncle Luther come with us?"

Allison looked back at him, and he didn't meet her eyes. In an instant, she recognized the sheer raw guilt on his face, and felt a pang of regret in her chest. She smiled at him, nodding to her daughter. "If he wants to, yeah."

A look of surprise spread over his face, and Claire all but ran to him before he could answer. "Please, uncle Luther?" She pleaded. "Please, please, _please_ will you come with me and Mommy while she shows me her room? Please?"

Allison laughed. "Claire, honey, you have to slow down so he can actually answer you. Give him a second." Claire looked surprised, as if that hadn't occurred to her, but she nodded obediently and turned back towards Luther, silent this time. There was a pause, and then he nodded slowly. "Okay. If you want me to come, then… sure."

He smiled hesitantly, and Claire grinned, bouncing up and down excitedly. "Then let's go!"

* * *

The door to Allison's room creaked as she pushed it open. Claire was beside her, while Luther had gone into his own room, located right across from hers. She'd tried to keep Claire's eyes away from the pictures on the wall that they'd referred to often as children, depicting various moves for hand-to-hand combat.

Claire all but ran into the room ahead of her mother, circling as she looked around. The room remained unchanged from the last time she'd stayed in it, a decade ago. The walls were still covered in posters of bands and movies she'd liked—as was the favorite poster on her wall that depicted a pair of macaws, and the bed was still perfectly made up. Magazines and books cluttered her night table and vanity, and all of her jewelry still hung neatly. A feather boa also hung from a wall hook, and Allison smiled fondly as she ran it between her fingers. Klaus had taken to stealing it from her when they were younger.

Claire sat down on the bed, bouncing a little. "Your old room is so pretty! Are we gonna sleep in here tonight?"

Allison turned to look at her daughter as she sat down in front of her vanity. "Probably. Do you wanna stay here tonight?" Claire nodded enthusiastically, and Allison smiled. "Okay then. That's what we'll do."

"Yes!" Claire exclaimed happily, jumping off the bed. "I'm gonna go see if uncle Luther will show me some of his stuff." She raced toward the door before Allison could reply. "Claire, wait—"

Allison laughed when she realized her daughter wasn't going to pay her any attention. Claire was far too fond of Luther to bother with her mother when he was around. It was, in some ways, a cruel fate—the man she knew as her father had left her, while her biological father didn't even know who she really was to him. Allison knew she could change that, but their "father's" funeral was not the right time or place to have that conversation with Luther.

She picked up a delicate gold chain resting with her other old necklaces, laying the pendant flat in her palm. A golden heart-shaped locket, with the letters _A+L_ engraved into it. Luther had given it to her when they were young and naïve and just starting to really think about if whatever drew them to each other could be love. She'd promised him that she'd never take it off.

But she had. Much like the gold ring on her finger that she'd worn for over nine years, put there when Claire was still in her womb and Allison's only thoughts were on protecting her baby from the man she called her father. Though she'd worn the locket for much longer than the ring.

Claire, meanwhile, had caught up to Luther in his room, and was busy examining it with great interest. She almost fell over as she circled around, eyeing the model airplanes hanging from the ceiling and the framed pictures on the walls. One that was above his desk—a picture of the moon—caught her eye, and she trotted over to get a closer look at it. She leaned on the desk and stood on her toes, staring intently at the picture. Luther, who had sat down on the bed, watched her. "You like that?"

She nodded. "It's awesome! I can't believe you lived up there." Claire looked back over at him. "Is it really that cold on the moon? Do you always have to wear a space suit?" Luther sighed and nodded. "Yeah, it's very cold. And when you're on the surface, you have to keep your suit on so you can breathe. Not to mention, so you don't freeze to death."

"Oh," Claire said softly. "So it _is_ like in those books Mommy used to read to me." Luther chuckled. "Yes, Claire, it's like in your books."

She turned away, her attention briefly grabbed by a small model plane on his desk. Claire nudged it with her hand, smiled, then walked away from the piece of furniture, towards the small shelf where Luther kept all his records.

"Whoa!" She exclaimed, crouching down to get a better look. "You have a lot of records, uncle Luther. Where did you get all these? Nobody uses records anymore." He walked over to her, shrugging. "I don't really remember where I got them; it was a long time ago."

Claire grinned. "Can you play one?"

Luther sighed, bending down towards the shelf. He ran a hand over several of them, before stopping towards the end and pulling one out, showing it to Claire. "How about this one?" She giggled and nodded, running for the door. "I'm gonna go tell Mommy!"

"Hang on a second, Claire—Claire!" He called out after her, but she ignored him. "Well. Never mind, then."

Claire burst back into her mother's room just as she was hanging the old locket back up—something Claire didn't notice. "Mommy! Uncle Luther said he'd play one of his records for me. Isn't that cool?" Allison smiled and nodded, beckoning her over. "Come here. Sit with me." Her daughter happily obliged, letting Allison set her on her lap.

"I used to sit here all the time," she said, gesturing towards the mirror. "I'd paint my nails or read magazines, or make faces in the mirror the way you do sometimes." Claire giggled at that, and Allison sighed wistfully. "And sometimes, when Dad wasn't around to get mad at us for being loud, Luther would put on one of his records, and turn it up enough for everybody in the house to hear. It was fun."

"What would you do when the music was on?" Claire asked. As if on cue, the opening notes to a song started to filter through the house, making Allison giggle. She set Claire down on the floor, got up from her chair, then took both of her daughter's hands in her own.

"We'd dance, of course."

Allison turned and grabbed her old feather boa, pulling it from its place on the wall. A grin crept onto her face as she twirled once, suddenly feeling very silly. Then she handed it to her daughter, who promptly put it around her own neck. Claire giggled and held onto her mother's hand, letting Allison spin her around. The sight made Allison's heart swell—seeing Claire happy and laughing always made her feel better. "Is that fun?"

Claire nodded, still grinning. "Do it again!"

As the music played, Allison let her worries and emotions go, if only for a few minutes. She was focused entirely on Claire, who seemed determined to dance in the same way her mother had. So Allison danced with her, twirling and swaying and laughing as it shifted from something recognizable to something utterly graceless and ridiculous, like she'd done as a kid. Claire was all but alight with happiness, something Allison couldn't recall seeing since the divorce. Just for those brief minutes, everything felt… normal. Like it was going to be all right. And, god, she needed that assurance.

Then thunder rumbled, the record scratched and stopped, and in an instant, the house went dark. Lightning flashed in intervals, and Claire jumped up, clinging to her mother as she let out a whimper. "Mommy, what's happening?" Allison put her arms around Claire and shushed her, patting her back. "I don't know, sweetie. But you're safe. It's okay."

Something made of glass shattered as the furniture in the room shook. Allison's locket flew across the room. Claire gripped her mother tighter. "I'm scared."

Just then, Luther burst into the room, looking worried. "Are you okay?" Allison nodded, wincing as her daughter tried to hide her face. "What's going on?"

Luther sighed, shaking his head. "No idea, but something's happening outside!"

Allison moved away from Claire, bending to her level. "Stay here, okay? Mommy will be right back. Can you do that?"

Claire shook her head vehemently, her eyes glassy with tears. "No! I wanna come with you!" Allison sighed. "Claire, sweetheart, it could be dangerous—"

"Don't leave me here!" She all but screamed at her mother. "_Please_!"

In that moment, Allison's mind was made up. She grabbed her daughter's hand, nodding. "Stay close to me." Then she ran towards Luther, who guided them through the halls, down the stairs, and out of the house.

When they reached the source of the sound, Diego and Vanya were already there, staring in awe at a strange flare of dark blue in the sky, round and rippling like flame. "What is that?" Vanya asked fearfully. Allison held back Luther, who'd tried to take another step towards the thing. "Don't get too close!"

"Yeah, no shit," Diego yelled over the thunder.

"Looks like some sort of temporal anomaly," Luther said as he stared up at it. "Either that or a miniature black hole; one of the two." Claire whimpered again and hid behind her mother. Diego glanced back at his brother, clearly both annoyed and worried. "Yeah, pretty big difference there, Paul Bunyan!"

"OUT OF THE WAY!" A sudden shout from Klaus made them all turn around—just in time to see him barreling forward, clutching a fire extinguisher. Luther tried to shout as Klaus shoved past him. "What are you—"

Klaus turned the fire extinguisher on the strange ripple, and when nothing happened, flung it directly into the hole, where it promptly disappeared. Allison looked at him incredulously. "What is _that_ gonna do?"

Klaus shrugged, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I don't know! Do you have a better idea?!"

More electricity crackled. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Luther exclaimed, moving forward to shove Klaus behind him. "Everyone get behind me!"

"Yeah, get behind us!" Diego shouted in agreement. Allison tensed in fear as the sounds grew louder, instinctively reaching for Luther. Without hesitating at all, he laced her fingers together with his, keeping a tight grip on her. They shared a glance, his eyes betraying worry and fear that she didn't doubt was reflected on her own face.

"I vote for running, come on!" Klaus yelled at the others, clearly distressed.

A shape within the flare changed, and a distorted sound leaked through the rumbling and crackling in the atmosphere. To Allison, it almost reminded her of… screaming. She and the others strained their eyes looking at the flare, trying to discern just what seemed to be protruding from it. It looked like a face, a _person_, trying to reach them.

Then the flare closed. The thunder faded out, the lightning stopped, light returned to the sky. And a body fell to the soil with a resounding thump.

The others slowly stepped closer, just in time to see a thin, scrawny boy with wild dark hair and blue-green eyes push himself up onto all fours, then rise to his feet. He was staring at them with an expression that somehow resembled both recognition and confusion.

And the sight before her made Vanya's mind whirl. _Is that… oh, my God. No. It can't be. He's just…_

Klaus voiced what she was thinking—and what she didn't doubt the others were thinking, too. Or at least something similar. "Does anyone else see… little Number Five, or is that just me?"

Five's brow furrowed—definitely confusion this time. Then he paused, glancing down at himself and the way the ill-fitting suit he wore practically hung from his form. "Shit."

He didn't yell the curse—it was more of a defeated sigh. Claire peered at him with wide eyes, frowning, as if she was trying to piece everything together. Then it must have clicked, because she sprinted toward him, beaming.

"Uncle Five!"

He tensed in surprise, but didn't have enough time to move out of the way before the little girl wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He flinched again at her touch and remained frozen for a few more moments, before awkwardly putting his arms around his niece in a stiff embrace. "Um. Hello, Claire." She laughed.

Allison regarded him incredulously. "How do you… know her name?"

Five moved away from Claire's hug, turning to look up at his sister as he let out a sigh. "It's a long story. We better get inside. There's a lot to talk about."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HE’S BACK! MY BOY IS BACK! Also, if the way I write Claire seems weird to y’all, like her manner and stuff, I’m kiiiiinda basing it off me as a 9yo and my own childhood bullshit: I was either chattery or quiet, I did not know wtf a coroner was, and I too tended to ask rapid fire and/or generally inappropriate questions. (Still do sometimes. Oops.)
> 
> Up next: Another awkward, question-filled reunion, Claire being her precocious and darn adorable self as usual, (though I was not near as adorable), and Five being a smartass. Feels will follow.


	3. The Return of Number Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family members dropping in unannounced are always awkward, but Claire doesn’t seem to mind Five. The returned runaway reflects on his past, fights are had, and Five tests the level of his estrangement from Vanya.

Number Five moved restlessly around the Academy kitchen. Claire watched in fascination as he grabbed a wooden cutting board, slamming it on the table. Klaus had decided to sit cross-legged on the furniture and watch Five, and Claire was imitating him, sitting on the edge. Five grabbed a loaf of bread from a cabinet. "What's the date? The _exact_ date."

"The 24th," Vanya replied, keeping her wide brown eyes on him as he paced around. He gave her an expectant look. "Of what?"

"March." Five stared down at the countertop as he fiddled with the bread, letting out a sigh. He pursed his lips together, then turned to look back up at his family. "Good." He offered no further explanation. Vanya kept her eyes on him, a look of regret mixed in with the confusion that was on both her and her siblings' faces.

Luther regarded him dubiously. "So, are we gonna talk about what just happened?" Five didn't reply, only took two pieces of bread from its plastic and set them down on the cutting board. This went on for a few moments, until Luther, fed up with his brother's silence, got up from his chair and moved to stand at Five's side. "It's been seventeen years."

Five scoffed, then turned to look at Luther, fixing him with a stare that was cold, almost contemptuous. "It's been a lot longer than that." Then he teleported away, disappearing and reappearing behind Luther. The sight made Claire's eyes go wide. "Whoa! Cool!"

Luther sighed. "I haven't missed that." Five rolled his eyes, reaching for a bag of marshmallows resting on top of a shelf.

"Where'd you go?" Diego asked, not bothering to turn and look at Five the way Luther had done. Five answered him matter-of-factly as he teleported back to the kitchen table. "The future. It's shit, by the way." Allison tried to give him a firm stare for swearing in front of her daughter, but he didn't notice.

Klaus smirked, raising a pointed index finger. "Called it!"

Five sighed in frustration as he bent forward to pull a jar of peanut butter from the refrigerator. "I should've listened to the old man. You know, jumping through space is one thing," he slammed the jar down onto the counter, punctuating his words, "jumping through time is a toss of the dice."

Then he looked back up, focusing on Klaus. "Nice dress." Klaus smiled slightly at him. "Oh, well, _danke_." Claire giggled.

Vanya held up one hand, clearly confused. "Wait, how did you get back?" Five's eyes flitted upwards, but when he caught sight of the pain in her own gaze, he looked back down towards the table and sighed. "In the end, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time."

Diego looked utterly lost. "That makes no sense." Five didn't even look up at him before retorting. "Well, it would if you were smarter." A quick, almost imperceptible upward glance told him that Vanya was still staring at him, giving him that same look she sometimes gave him when they were kids and he was being especially petulant: a raised brow, with the corners of her mouth turned upwards into a tiny smile. She was amused and trying not to show it—though she'd never had much of a poker face when it came to him.

Diego shot up from his position at the table, glaring at Five, but Luther held him back and gave Diego a piercing look before turning his attention back to Five. "How long were you there?" Five shrugged and kept his eyes down, still busy spreading peanut butter on bread. "Forty-five years. Give or take."

Luther's jaw dropped, and he had to collapse back into his chair. All of his siblings were staring at Five in shock, and even Claire regarded him with an open mouth and wide eyes. "So what are you saying?" Luther questioned. "That you're 58?" Five sighed sharply and looked up at Luther, giving him a tight-lipped smile that only indicated he was the opposite of pleased. "No, my _consciousness_ is 58. Apparently my body is now 13 again." He all but spat those words at Luther, clearly frustrated with his predicament, and picked up his sandwich.

Claire shuffled forward on the table, moving closer to Five. "You're 58? Wow, you're _old_!" Five didn't answer, but gave her a little smile.

"Wait, how does that even work?" Vanya asked him, and he spared her the barest of glances. He couldn't really look at her, not yet. They weren't alone, and he'd only ever been able to truly look at and _see_ her when it was no one else but them. Though she was asking all the right questions. (She always had). Then he turned his back, walking to a far corner of the room.

"Delores kept saying the equations were off," he replied with a shrug. "Eh." He crossed back over to the table, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Bet she's laughing now." Vanya pressed further. "Delores?"

This time, he didn't answer her. He kept his eyes down towards the kitchen table, feigning distraction from the newspaper headline that spoke of the death of their father. He didn't want to talk about Delores to any of them, least of all Vanya. He'd always known that his "companion" was not real, but she'd kept him from going insane. Vanya couldn't know that in his mind, Delores was in many ways just like her: he imagined Vanya's voice, her words, her face and body. How he imagined she'd look as they grew older—and he hadn't been too far off the mark. Her hair was wavier and shorter, and there were more tired lines on her face, but that didn't bother him in the least. He was just glad to have her back.

"Hmm," he got out, picking up the newspaper. "Guess I missed the funeral." Luther regarded him with incredulity, eyes narrowing. "How do you know about that?" In answer, Five glared. "What part of the future do you not understand?" Five sighed. "Heart failure, huh?"

"Yeah," Diego replied, nodding. Luther, however, shook his head. "No." Five's brow raised, and he nodded thoughtfully, clicking his tongue. "Nice to see nothing's changed." Claire watched him as he headed towards the doorway, finally speaking up.

"Uncle Five?" She spoke in a quiet, very small voice. He froze, turning back to face her. "Yes, Claire?" His niece regarded him with thoughtful, curious eyes, almost studying him for several moments, before she answered him. "Are you happy to be back home?"

Five sighed heavily, dropped his gaze to the floor. After a long pause, he met Claire's eye and nodded. "After all that time in the future, being in my own time again is a nice change of pace. Excuse me." Without further comment, Five turned around and walked through the kitchen door, with Allison glaring at his back in disbelief as he left. "That's it? That's all you're gonna say?"

"What else is there to say?" Five called out after her. "The circle of life. Everybody dies someday." His footsteps receded down the hallway, before fading out altogether. Once he'd left the room, Luther let out a sigh. "Well. That was interesting."

Claire grinned. "I like him. He's cool."

* * *

Five, meanwhile, had returned to his old room to look for some better-fitting clothes. All of his old things were still there, from his books to the odd toy here and there, so his clothes must have all been where he left them. And when he opened his old closet, he found that his clothes were indeed still there—rows of uniform jackets, shorts, and vests. Nothing else. "Ah, shit."

He found his way back to the parlor, staring up at the oil painting above the fireplace. An eerie reflection of himself, or rather the child he used to be, staring at him with the same cold, calculating green eyes. It made him sigh. Despite everything, Five wished he could go back to being the boy in the painting—and not in looks. He wanted to be that child again, who knew of nothing except rigorous Academy training, tense bickering with the others, and quiet evenings with Vanya.

Speaking of.

He felt rather than heard her enter the room behind him. Vanya, as small and nervous as ever, watching him with those big brown eyes the way she used to when they were alone together. "Nice to know Dad didn't forget me," he quipped, then finally turned around to face her. Five knew he couldn't avoid looking at her forever, and no one else was in the vicinity, so now was as good a time as any. "Read your book, by the way," he went on. "Found it in a library that was still standing."

She was still and silent, her eyes downcast and raw with longing and sadness. Five knew that look—it was the same one she'd given him the night before he left home, when they'd argued about him attempting time travel. Vanya had tried to talk him out of it. And when it became clear that he wasn't going to change his mind, she'd given him that same aching, hopeless look.

He should have listened to her.

If he looked at her for too long, everything would come rushing back, so he turned away. Five turned to the side, walking past her to the other end of the room. "I thought it was pretty good, all things considered." He spoke slowly and deliberately, focusing entirely on his words and tone. Better to sound like a plotting psychopath than risk saying something he'd regret. Then he chuckled, allowing himself to turn back to face her—in the same way that he couldn't look her in the eyes for too long, he couldn't go for any length of time without her in his sight, not after forty-five years without her.

"Definitely ballsy, giving up the family secrets," he added, drawing out the last syllable as he spoke. He gave her a meaningful look, watching her reactions carefully. Her eyes flitted away from him, a slight hint of pink tinging her cheeks. She was… uncomfortable. No doubt it had to do with his remark. "I'm sure _that_ went over well." Vanya looked back up at him, her eyes still clouded with pain. "They hate me."

_Well, I don't_, he thought. _I could _never_ hate you. You're what kept me going all those years I was alone_. He wanted to say those things so badly, but now was neither the time or place for that. Instead, he answered her in the only way he really knew how—comfort that didn't strictly qualify as helpful. "There are worse things that can happen," he said with a sigh.

Vanya nodded slowly. "You mean like what happened to Ben?"

_Ben_. The only one of his family whose body he hadn't found with the others—his and Vanya's. And now his suspicion had been all but confirmed by the way Vanya was acting: Ben must have already been dead. His brow furrowed. "Was it bad?"

Another nod. "There's a statue in the courtyard. We didn't even have anything to bury." Five looked at the floor, closing his eyes in a moment of grief. Ben had also been his best friend, second in his mind only to Vanya. And yet in some ways, his untimely death was not surprising—Ben was always too kind and gentle (and couldn't shut his emotions out the way Klaus could) for the dangers they all used to face. Five had worried about how long Ben would last, and for that reason was not shocked to hear of his death, even if it hurt.

It made him stop to thank whatever deity was listening that Vanya had made it. Without her, he'd have no idea what to do. But she was alive, and that meant there was hope.

* * *

By sundown, there was a thunderstorm outside. Luther was the first to enter the courtyard, with the others close behind him. Grace followed him out as well. Four of the group—Grace, Allison, Five, and Vanya—carried solid black umbrellas. Klaus' umbrella was small and transparent, with bright pink along the edges. By then Allison and Claire had changed into simple black dresses, as had Grace. Luther stood across from all of them holding an ornate urn (and as such, had no umbrella to protect him from the rain). Diego didn't seem to mind being completely drenched by the downpour. He stood next to their mother, with Allison on the other side of him. Claire was at her feet, clutching her own tiny parasol—light pink with brown polka dots. Klaus and Five stood off to the right, until Five noticed Vanya moving to stand at the other end of the odd semicircle their group formed, and he teleported over to stand beside her.

They shared a glance, then her eyes dropped back to the ground. She'd been so quiet—though she'd always been that way, he supposed—that it made him wonder what else was bothering her. He was only about half a foot away from her and could have easily reached out to touch her hand, the way he used to when she needed comfort. He wanted to. But she wouldn't look at him.

"Did something happen?" Grace asked, breaking him from his thoughts. Allison frowned in confusion and nodded. "Dad died. Remember?"

Her face fell. "Oh. Yes, of course." Allison glanced at Diego, concerned. "Is Mom okay?"

Diego nodded, looking back at Allison. "Yeah, yeah. She's fine. She just needs to rest. You know, recharge."

Then Pogo walked forward, a black-and-white umbrella in one hand and his small cane in the other. Claire's eyes bugged out of her head at the sight of Pogo, and Allison laid a hand on her shoulder. "Don't stare, baby."

"But he's a _monkey_!" She hissed, and Pogo furrowed his brow, but his eyes were understanding as he smiled a bit at Claire's wonderment. He then nodded towards Luther, who stepped forward with the urn. "Whenever you're ready, dear boy."

Luther's eyes dropped towards the urn. He sighed and, after giving Pogo a tiny nod, removed the lid from the ornate black vessel. The ashes of their father were dumped on the ground rather unceremoniously, and Klaus winced. Luther suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Probably would have been better with some wind," he said awkwardly. Allison stared at the gray patch of ash on the ground, tightening her grip on Claire's shoulder. No one else moved or said a word. Pogo, in turn, let out a sigh. "Does anyone wish to speak?"

Still no one said anything, their eyes turned towards the ground to avoid looking at Pogo—all except for Five, whose gaze was trained on Vanya. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, and for a moment, hot anger blazed up in his chest at the sight. Why would she of all people be mourning their father, the man who tormented and isolated her from not only the world, but her own family? Then her irises flicked towards him, almost fast enough that he didn't notice it, and in an instant he understood. She wasn't grieving their father.

She was grieving _him_.

Five inched closer, discreetly offering his hand. Vanya still wouldn't look in his direction, but she took it, and that was good enough. Pogo, meanwhile, nodded gravely. "Very well."

As Pogo spoke, Five tightened his grip on Vanya. He ran his thumb across the inside of her wrist, pausing when she flinched at his touch. However, her stiffness was only momentary, and he pressed his thumb against her pulse point as she relaxed. Her heart was beating, strong and steady. She was alive. So was he.

Years ago after particularly difficult missions, when he was shaking and bleeding and she tended to him, they'd touched like that—fingers over pulse points, a gentle brush of skin against skin to remind each other that they were still here, on this earth. Still breathing, still alive, able to fight for another day. He hoped she remembered that.

He expected that she did, considering how she didn't pull away for the entirety of Pogo's speech. If only she'd just _look_ at him, and then things would be all the more bearable. But as it was, he couldn't say or do anything more, and could only listen to Pogo.

"In all regards, Sir Reginald Hargreeves made me what I am today. For that alone, I shall forever be in his debt. He was my master as well as my friend, and I shall miss him very much." Pogo stopped, looked at the ground, and let out a heavy sigh. "He leaves behind a complicated legacy—"

Before Pogo could finish his sentence, Diego spoke up in an almost dangerously low, even voice. "He was a monster." To the left of him, Klaus laughed, and Claire turned towards the two brothers, eyes wide with confusion. Vanya and Five also turned to glance at the interruption, with the latter drawing soothing circles on her wrist when Vanya tensed in fear. He supposed that old habits were all that kept her from pulling away, as she'd only ever been truly comfortable with him, and vice versa. And after so many years of not seeing—let alone touching—Vanya, Five found it difficult to keep away from her.

"He was a bad person and a worse father," Diego continued. "The world's better off without him." Allison shot him a piercing look, urging him to be quiet. "Diego."

He shook his head. "My name is Number Two. And you're Number Three. You know why? Because our father couldn't be bothered to give us actual names. He had Mom do it," Diego spat angrily, looking towards his sister. As if on cue, Grace smiled strangely, looking off into the distance. "Would anyone like something to eat?"

Vanya answered her with a slight head shake. "No, it's okay, Mom." Her reply was quick, but Five could tell from the way her voice rose in pitch that she was starting to get nervous. So he removed his hand from her grasp, placing it on top of her own just as quickly as he'd pulled away. She froze up again, looking towards the ground, not even acknowledging Five. Grace simply nodded, still smiling. "Oh, okay."

Diego, meanwhile, stepped forward into the clearing, stopping at the foot of the ashes. "Look, you wanna pay your respects? Go ahead. But at least be honest about the kind of man he was."

"You should stop talking now." The words came from Luther, who stood over his brother's turned back like a titan. His voice was low and dangerous, eyes shadowed by restrained fury. That warning, paired with Luther's massive, almost unnatural frame, anyone else would have listened to. Not Diego.

He turned to face his brother, leering. "You know, you of all people should be on my side here, _Number One_," Diego shot back. "After everything he did to you?" Luther glared, one hand forming a clenched fist. "I am warning you." Klaus, suddenly nervous, shared a glance with Allison, who was trying to reassure her daughter and looked just as worried as he was.

"He had to ship you a million miles away," Diego went on. Luther grit his teeth, seeming just as pained as he was angry. "Diego, _stop_ talking."

Claire drew in a shuddering breath, able to find her voice just long enough to shout at them. "Cut it out!"

Diego still did not listen to either of them, raising his voice to a shout. "That is how much he couldn't stand the sight of you!" He raised a hand, striking Luther in the chest.

The blow was not meant to cause pain and was therefore harmless, but it was enough to set off the fuse. Luther ran forward, swinging his fist at Diego, who dodged and easily countered with a blow of his own.

The pair scuffled while the others backed away, starting with Five—he let go of Vanya and ran backwards, guiding her behind him with an outstretched hand. Out of habit, she shrank behind his back, even though she was a bit taller than he was now.

Pogo tried to restore order, shouting at them. "Boys, stop this at once!" They ignored him, and Claire, who had been pushed back by Allison, rushed forward as much as she could with her mother's iron grip on her hand. "Seriously, guys, knock it off!"

"Come on!" Diego taunted Luther, moving out of the way easily when Luther charged him again. Vanya, who felt a little more courageous with Five standing in front of her, rose her own voice above the fray. "Stop it!"

"Claire, get back!" That was Allison, trying to get her daughter behind her as she struggled against her grasp. Claire ignored her. Klaus sighed. "I love a good fight, but you need to stop freaking out Claire!"

Luther gained the upper hand in the fight for a moment, sending Diego backwards to the ground with a shove. Then Diego got back onto his feet and drew a knife, spinning the blade around in his fingers. Claire knew what would happen before her mother did, and finally yanked herself free of her grasp.

"STOP IT!"

Claire sprinted forward, shoving herself between Luther and Diego, with her back to the former of the two. "What is WRONG with you? You shouldn't fight like this!"

Conflicting emotions flickered across Diego's face, then he gestured to the side. "Get out of the way, Claire. I don't wanna risk hurting you. This isn't your fight."

"I'm not moving until you stop fighting." She stared down her uncle even as hot tears stung her eyes, and she took deep breaths to keep her voice from shaking. "_Please_."

Allison's hands shook as she beckoned for her daughter. "Claire, sweetheart. Please, just get back. You don't understand what's—"

"You shouldn't be fighting!" Claire yelled at them. "People get hurt in fights!" She cast her eyes towards her mother momentarily, who was watching her with an open mouth and pained eyes. Tears began to run down Claire's face, forming streaks in her skin. She thought she heard Luther say her name behind her, but her heart was beating too loudly for her to focus on anything besides what was happening in front of her. Diego sighed. "Claire, this isn't about you."

A sob escaped her. "I don't _care_!" Diego's patience finally wore away, and his voice raised to a shout. "Just LISTEN! And stop—"

He was cut off by her scream. Words that rendered not only him and Luther silent, but her mother, Grace, and Klaus as well—the others had already gone back inside, so there were no other onlookers. All that was left was the sound of the rain.

"I HEARD A RUMOR THAT YOU STOPPED THIS!"

A beat. Diego's eyes clouded over. The knife slipped from his nerveless fingers. Then the glazed look in his eyes faded, and he was left to stare openmouthed at his niece, who had given way to sobbing. "What…" he gasped. "What did you do?"

Allison, no longer paralyzed, finally ran over and pulled her daughter into a tight hug. "It's okay, baby. You're okay," she choked out. Allison gave a flabbergasted Diego a scorching parting look as she guided her daughter back into the house, whispering words of comfort. Luther watched them go, his own eyes filling with pain, and then he ran back into the Academy after them. Diego could only take his mother by the arm and lead her back into the Academy, leaving Klaus out in the rain alone.

Klaus bent down on the ground by the pile of ashes. A manic grin broke out on his face as he stared down at the soil. "I bet you're loving this, hmm? The team at its best." He sighed. "It's just like old times."

He took his newly-lit cigarette and extinguished it in the ashes, leaving it there as he stood up and ran back inside. "Poor Claire. I should really go talk to her."

* * *

Allison sat with her daughter at the kitchen table, wiping tears off her face with a tissue. "Claire, sweetie, it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong. And, thanks to you, nobody got hurt. Everything will be fine," she said soothingly. "I promise." Allison pressed a kiss to Claire's forehead. "You want me to make you some hot cocoa?" Claire nodded, and Allison gave her a small smile and rose to her feet, busying herself with the kettle.

Klaus, who was seated at the head of the table in an awkward position—his knees drawn up to his chest as he sat in the chair sideways with a guitar in his lap—motioned for Claire to sit beside him. She got up from her seat and planted herself on the corner of the table. He grinned, plucking a guitar string. "You know how to play this?"

She shook her head, and he winked at her. "Your uncle Diego would never tell you, but he and I used to be in a band back in the day. I played guitar. Those were fun times." Then he tapped a finger to his lips. "But remember, that's our secret." Finally, Claire smiled, letting out a slight chuckle. By the time Allison returned with two steaming mugs of hot cocoa, Claire had perked up a bit.

"Can I have a cup too, Allie?" Klaus asked, gesturing to the mug in her hands. She smiled and set it down in front of him. "I got this one for you. I don't really drink cocoa anymore, so…" she shrugged.

Then in a sudden flash, Five materialized in the kitchen. He glanced around the room while they were still in shock, and sighed in frustration. "Shit. Either of you seen Vanya?"

"Oh, she's gone," Klaus replied. "Called an Uber, I think."

Five sighed again, leaning on the kitchen table. "Damn it. She's the only one of you I actually trust. Well, her and the nine-year-old." He glanced over at Claire, who was staring down into her drink. He gave her a rare look of concern, brow furrowing. "Are you alright?" Claire nodded slowly, but didn't turn her head. Five, in turn, glanced over at Allison.

"It's strange. This house takes up an entire square block. Forty-two bedrooms, nineteen bathrooms, but no, not a single drop of coffee." She gave him an incredulous look. "You know Dad hated caffeine, right?"

To the left of Allison, Klaus chuckled bitterly. "Well, he hated children too, and he had plenty of us." Then he covered his mouth with one hand when she glared at him. "Oh, right. Sorry. Not supposed to mention the closet skeletons," he said sarcastically.

Five rolled his eyes, turning away from them. "I'm taking the car." Klaus' eyes widened at that, and he sat up slowly as Five moved across the kitchen. "Where are you going?"

He got a glare in response from Five. "To get a decent cup of coffee!" Allison raised her eyebrows at him, still baffled. "Do you even know how to drive?" He stood on his toes, staring sharply at her. "I know how to do everything."

Then he turned his attention back to Claire, letting out a sigh. "Still shaken up from the fight?" She nodded again. In an instant, Five almost extended his hand to set it on her shoulder, but then he pulled back, able to disguise it as nothing more than a fingertip twitch. "I'll get you a donut."

Five turned around, about to teleport outside, when Claire spoke up. "Uncle Five?" He turned around, finding that she had finally turned back to look at him. "Yes?" In answer, she grinned at him. "Powdered sugar?"

"Sure." The corners of his mouth twitched up in an almost invisible smile, then he turned around and teleported away. Klaus watched with wide eyes, jumping out of his chair as Five vanished. "I feel like we should try and stop him, but then again, I also just kinda wanna see what happens." Outside, a car engine turned over and revved to life.

Allison scoffed, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling. "You are unbelievable." Klaus laughed, taking a sip of his cocoa. "You know what's even more unbelievable than me? Little Number Five actually _smiled_." Allison chuckled, nodding in agreement before turning to her daughter. "Yeah, you did the impossible, Claire. You made Five smile."

Before Claire could say anything else, Diego strode into the kitchen. He froze when he saw Allison and Claire, but only for a moment. "Uh. Hey." Claire stared at him apprehensively, and his sister regarded him with an ice-cold gaze. "Diego," Allison said curtly. "What do you want?"

He sighed. "To apologize." Diego looked more tired than before, even a little ashamed, his eyes turned towards the floor. "I, uh, said stupid things and started an unnecessary fight. And I know it scared you, Claire. I just want you to know I'm very sorry about that. I'd prefer to have a niece that's not afraid of me," he concluded, giving Claire a tiny smile.

She smiled back. "I forgive you, uncle Diego. I know you mean it." Allison smiled too, and relief washed over Diego's face. "Good. Thanks." He chuckled softly.

Then he walked across the kitchen, grabbing something from the counter as he fiddled with his car keys. "All right, I guess I'll see you guys in, what, ten years? When Pogo dies?" Allison laughed, rolling her eyes. "Not if you die first."

"Yeah, love you too, sis," he quipped, grinning to himself as he walked past her and towards the doorway. She scoffed, mock glaring at his back as he moved away. "You could call every once in a while, you know," Allison snarked. "Or Skype. FaceTime. Wonders of technology, Diego."

Diego laughed. "I hate talking on the phone, I don't have Skype, and I don't know what the hell that other thing is. See my point?" He glanced back, smirking at her.

"Well, you better be at Claire's high school graduation, that's all I'm saying," Allison shot back. "I'll know if you aren't." As Diego rolled his eyes and turned away, Klaus shot up from his chair and ran over to him. "Are—are we leaving?"

Diego sighed in frustration and shook his head. "No, _I'm_ leaving. Me. By myself." Klaus grinned, clapping his hands together. "Oh, fabulous! I'll get my things. And while you're driving, I will happily explain what FaceTime is, if you like."

"I'd prefer if you didn't."

Allison watched them leave, collapsing on the one comfortable chair in the room. Claire watched her mother from her perch on the kitchen table, smiling over her mug. Allison let out a tired sigh. "Are you feeling any better, honey?" Claire nodded, and Allison smiled. "Good. I'll let you finish your drink, but after that we need to get some sleep."

Claire sighed. "Mommy?" Allison tilted her head at her, indicating she was listening. "What is it, baby?"

"Is it bad that I have your power?" Claire gazed at her mother, her eyes wide and filled with concern. She was biting her lower lip, the way Allison herself used to do when she was nervous. Allison sighed sadly and shook her head.

"No, baby, of course not," she murmured. "It's actually a _good_ thing, if you ask me. Because I have the same power, I can teach you how to control it. And, you already did well. You only used it to calm down a situation where someone could've gotten hurt." Allison smiled. "I'm proud of you."

Claire grinned, but then furrowed her brow in confusion. "Wait, what do you mean, 'control it'? Don't I have to just… not say the words?"

Allison sighed, getting up from her chair. She walked across the room, dropping to one knee so that she could look Claire in the eye. She took her daughter's hand in her own. "It's not just about that, sweetheart. Real control comes from knowing when to use it—and _only_ using it when you need to. You can't just… rumor your way into getting whatever you want. It's not right." Allison looked away from her for a moment, towards the kitchen doorway, as if she expected Luther to walk in at any moment. "I learned that the hard way."

A pause. Then Claire spoke up in a small voice when her mother didn't turn back and look at her. "Are you okay, Mommy?"

Allison turned her head back to her daughter and smiled shakily. "I'm fine, Claire." She rose to her feet, holding out one hand to Claire. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

* * *

The brakes of the old car screeched as Five slammed to a stop in the parking lot of Griddy's Donuts—an old cheap cafe he used to frequent with his siblings when they were all still children and sneaking out of the house was commonplace. The neon signs were lit up, which meant they were open. Good. He needed his coffee.

Five made quick work of entering the place and seated himself at a barstool, ringing the service bell on the counter. Another man entered just behind him, taking the seat next to him. Five gave the man a brief, curt nod of acknowledgment, then kept looking straight ahead.

Then a waitress came forward—an older woman with wispy blonde hair dressed in a frilly bright pink uniform. "Sorry, sink was clogged." She chuckled. "So, what'll it be?" The waitress turned her attention to the older man first, who Five had been able to figure out was a tow truck driver due to the uniform patch on his jacket. The driver cleared his throat before answering her. "Uh, get me a chocolate éclair." She smiled and nodded, writing his order down, before turning to glance at Five. "Can I get the kid a glass of milk or something?"

Five rolled his eyes. "The kid wants coffee. Black." The waitress stiffened momentarily, before letting out a slight laugh. "Cute kid." In return, Five gave her his best false grin. "And a powdered sugar donut. To go, if you don't mind." The waitress nodded again, and when she walked away from them, it seemed she couldn't distance herself from Five fast enough.

He let out a sigh, turning towards the driver. "Promised my niece I'd get her a donut. I doubt her mother is going to appreciate the extra sugar, judging by how most mothers are about that sort of thing, but… a promise is a promise. I've broken enough of those for one life."

The driver regarded him carefully, brow furrowing in confusion, then nodded. "How old is your niece?"

"Nine," Five replied. "She's my sister's kid." The driver chuckled at that. "Must be one hell of an age gap, then." Five shrugged, then nodded. "Something like that."

Then the waitress returned with their donuts and Five's coffee, and the conversation stilled. When she walked away, Five glanced down at the driver's jacket, rereading the towing company name on the logo. "You must know your way around the city."

A chuckle. "I hope so. I've been driving it for 20 years. And I don't need a GPS to get around like so many people do." Five nodded approvingly. "Good. I need an address."

After the driver left the donut shop, Five stored the extra donut away in his jacket pocket, thankful that the waitress had put it in a closed bag. He'd just drank the last of his coffee when the doors opened again, and the very definition of "trouble" walked in.

Five saw their reflections in the metal bell. Men in black suits with machine guns, all pointed at him. Clearly his former boss was not happy with his departure.

"Well, that was fast," Five remarked casually. "I thought I'd have more time before they found me."

"Okay," the ringleader of the group said. "So let's all be professional about this, yeah? On your feet and come with us. They want to talk." Five rolled his eyes, looking down into his mug. "I've got nothing to say."

"It doesn't have to go this way," the man warned. Then he sighed in frustration. "You think I wanna shoot a kid? Go home with that on my conscience?"

Five smirked. "Well, I wouldn't worry about that." Finally, he turned to face the enforcer. "You won't be going home." In one swift movement, he grabbed a silver knife from the table and jumped out of sight.

Then all hell broke loose.

He stabbed the ringleader and one of the henchmen first. Guns began to go off as the remaining agents looked around wildly for him, as the discharged bullets had knocked out much of the lighting in the place.

Five rematerialized on one of the small tables. "Hey, assholes!" He jumped out of the way just as they started shooting, waiting to reappear until they'd wasted several bullets. He reappeared outside the diner, knocking on the glass and giving one of the gunmen a mock salute before vanishing again in a hail of bullets.

He used his powers to make quick work of the remaining gunmen, stabbing them and jumping out of the way before the others could catch him. He left the knife blade in the eye of one agent, and when he saw one still moving, Five snapped his neck with one quick jerk of his arms. Then Five picked up the tracking device they'd left on the floor and groaned inwardly—there was one more unpleasant thing he had to do.

Five grabbed hold of one of their knives and used it to cut into his own arm, barely focusing on the pain as he removed a small capsule-shaped tracking chip from his forearm. It beeped, flashing a tiny green light even as he removed it from his body.

After he exited the donut shop, Five dropped the tracker into a puddle of water in the parking lot. Good riddance. He straightened the tie he'd stolen off of one of the gunmen, climbed back into the car, and drove off.

In another part of the city, Diego had parked his own car by the water, and was dropping a delicate monocle into the reservoir, only returning to his vehicle when Klaus started shouting for him.

And by the time Five made it back to the Academy, Claire (along with her mother) was fast asleep in Allison's room. So he carefully set the bag containing the donut on the nightstand and teleported out, eager to get back to the car. He had a new destination in mind.

* * *

When Vanya stepped into her apartment, looking around for a light switch, she nearly jumped out of her skin when the table lamp clicked on, revealing Five sitting in one of her chairs, looking at her expectantly.

"Jesus!" She exclaimed. "What the hell, Five?"

"You should have locks on your windows," he replied coolly, folding his hands in front of him. She let out an exasperated sigh, slamming her keys down at their usual spot on top of the radiator. "I live on the second floor."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Rapists can climb." Vanya sighed again, more out of defeat than anything else, as she turned to close her front door. "You are _so_ weird."

Five let out a soft chuckle, smiling to himself as she turned back to face him. He'd missed everything about the time they used to spend together, from the quiet moments to the arguments to the banter, but he wasn't sure what breaking into her apartment and nearly giving her a heart attack qualified as.

He liked the place, with its beaten-down furniture and scattered books and secondhand wooden shelves. The way she still kept her violin carelessly leaned against the windowsill the way it was in her old room. Though this apartment was better in his eyes. The Academy may have had expensive furniture and art hanging from the walls and no flaws in the housekeeping whatsoever, but Vanya's apartment felt more real. Comfortable. Lived-in. Like a real home.

Vanya sat down on the couch across from him. Almost immediately, her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of his shirt collar. "Is that blood?"

Leave it to Vanya to notice straightaway. She'd always been able to tell if he was hurt, no matter how good he got at hiding it. And for a moment, he saw that young girl again, with her wide dark eyes and long curtain of hair, soft hands, and delicate fingers that trembled when she tended to his many injuries. Then the illusion shattered when he remembered his purpose for being here, and that now was no time to get lost in old memories.

"It's nothing," he answered her, listless.

Vanya straightened up, setting her hands on her lap. She still looked… worried, to him. Though part of him was distracted by the loose strands of hair that had fallen from the bun she'd tied it back in, that framed her face and made her look even softer than she already did.

Lovely.

He shook himself inwardly to clear his head, reminding himself to focus. Thankfully, she finally spoke up, which kept him from getting lost in thought again. "Why are you here?"

Five sighed. "I've decided you're the only one I can trust." It had always been that way, anyway—she was the only one who'd never tried to hurt him—with the possible exception of Ben. But Ben was no longer around, so that wouldn't do any good.

"Why me?"

Of course. She'd never really known how much he'd trusted her. That made sense, as he hadn't made a habit of verbalizing his feelings in the past, not even to her—most of the time, anyway. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. "Because you're ordinary."

It came out harsher than he intended, making him wince inwardly when her face fell and her eyes dropped down to her lap. Damn it. The last thing he needed to do was upset her. He couldn't mess things up, not after what happened the last time he left. So he lowered his voice a bit, hoping that his next words sounded kinder.

"Because you'll listen." Vanya looked back up at him, muttered something that he could not hear, and then got to her feet, all but running for another room. For a moment, Five was tempted to call out to her, until he heard the familiar creak of the medicine cabinet opening—Vanya was lapsing back into her old habit of taking care of him.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss the strange intimacy of those moments.

Which was why he didn't try and protest when she returned from her bathroom with bandages and antiseptic and antibiotic cream. Automatically, he rolled up his jacket sleeve, showing her the gouge he'd made in his forearm. Vanya winced, reaching for the rubbing alcohol.

As she cleaned his wound, the cold sting seeping into his skin, Five watched her. For a moment, he was almost tempted to reach forward and brush a lock of hair away from her face. It wasn't anything he hadn't done before.

But there were more pressing matters at hand, including the other reason he came to see her. Ordinarily, neither of them would have said a thing during her process of cleaning his wounds, but Five broke that usual calm silence.

"When I jumped forward and got stuck in the future… do you know what I found?"

Vanya shook her head slightly, still keeping most of her attention on his injury. "No. What happened?"

He sighed. "I found nothing. Absolutely nothing. As far as I could tell, I was the last person left alive." _Although I had enough cause to hope you survived_, he thought, but didn't say. "I never figured out what killed the human race, but… I did find something else. The date it happens."

For a moment, Vanya let herself look up at him, away from the blood and out of the thoughts that had been running through her head—Five could tell from her expression that she'd been lost in thought before, and a small part of him hoped that she'd missed him just as much as he'd missed her. Now, though, she was giving his words her full attention, staring at him with a mix of fear and shock and something else he couldn't quite place. Strange, as Vanya had always been easy for him to read.

"The world ends in eight days," he said softly. "And I have no idea how to stop it."

Vanya froze. Her mouth fell open in shock, and Five couldn't help but notice that her lips still looked as soft as they had before. Her eyes flitted down to her lap, then back up at him.

He wanted to kiss her then, the same way he'd wanted to for years. Every time they were alone together, it inevitably crossed his mind. But he couldn't kiss her then, and he certainly couldn't now—damn whatever timeline circumstances led to him reverting to the body of a child. And the more pressing matter of the apocalypse, only eight days away, served as a useful (and pretty fucking inconvenient) reminder of his priorities.

Vanya let out a soft, nervous chuckle. "I'll put on a pot of coffee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked the twists and feels trips I included! Leave a comment/kudos if you did!


	4. Reconnections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five does his best to reconcile with Vanya while also keeping the fast-approaching apocalypse in mind. Allison and Luther reflect on their past choices. And three new players enter the game that began when Five was tracked down in the donut shop.

Five couldn't take his eyes off Vanya as he spoke. She was staring intently at him with wide, soft eyes, hanging onto his every word—but still tense with nerves, the way she'd been during that last argument with their father. Her fingers were curled into fists at her sides, as if she didn't know what to do with her hands now that she'd cleaned and bandaged his wound. If she'd been closer to him, he might've reached out to touch her, but as it was, she was seated too far away from him.

"I survived on scraps," he murmured. "Canned food, cockroaches, anything I could find." _Physically, anyway_, he thought. _Mentally, it was my memories that kept me going._ Then Five let out a slight chuckle. "You know that rumor that Twinkies have an endless shelf life? Well, it's total bullshit."

Vanya's eyes widened. "I can't even imagine." Her hands moved to her lap, fingers lacing together. He could tell she wanted to touch him, too—much like the way he'd held her hand at the funeral. It made him want to smile, almost. Even on medication that he knew dulled her senses, Vanya had always been terrible at hiding her emotions. Five shrugged in answer. "You do whatever it takes to survive, or you die." He paused, staring off into space as he reflected. "So we adapted. Whatever the world threw at us, we found a way to overcome it."

While Five knew he was speaking with regards to Delores, he wished he wasn't. Not that he regretted meeting what would be his sole companion for those forty-odd years of solitude, but rather, what he was describing had been the sort of life he'd envisioned having with Vanya: them against the world. She'd been his best friend, the one he'd promised to run away with when the time was right. Which was what he would have done, had he not gotten trapped on post-apocalypse Earth. That was the one thing he regretted about his act of leaving—not taking Vanya with him.

"We?" She echoed, breaking him from his reverie. Once again he was reminded of what he'd lost—she no longer knew everything about him, and he couldn't always guess exactly what she was thinking. The quiet intimacy they'd grown used to in childhood wasn't completely gone, if the funeral was any indication, but it had definitely faded—or more accurately shifted into something else. What was once intimate was now shadowed by the underlying loss they'd both experienced.

It was enough to make him want a drink. Five sighed, holding up the empty mug she'd given him that previously had been filled with coffee. "You got anything stronger?"

She poured him some liquor, stored away in a cabinet with the rest of her alcohol. He accepted it quickly without verbal thanks, though he did grant her a slight nod in acknowledgement, before polishing off most of it in one gulp. Then he noticed something… off about the sad expression she'd been giving him and, fueled by liquid courage, let his leftover anger blaze up—part of him had been wanting to yell at her all day to stop looking at him like that and act on whatever she was feeling, damn it. (He supposed it was a bit hypocritical, considering how much he kept bottled up, but he couldn't bring himself to care.) "You think I'm crazy."

"No," Vanya replied immediately, stammering out her next words. "It's just… it's a lot to take in." Five sighed in frustration—this hadn't gone exactly as he'd imagined it would. She was doubting him, something she'd never done before. Well, she had, but only once when she was afraid for his life and trying to convince him to stay in his fixed place in time. "Exactly what don't you understand?" His voice was cold and bitter, and it made her flinch. Inwardly he cursed himself, but couldn't stop being angry. Not yet.

"Why didn't you just time travel back?" She asked, and he rolled his eyes at the sheer obviousness within the answer to that question. "Gee, wish I'd thought of that," he snapped. "Time travel is a crapshoot. I went into the ice and never acorn-ed." Five softened a little bit with that last sentence, recalling his father's metaphor, then hardened his gaze when he saw the look in Vanya's eyes—hurt, betrayal. She was upset with him for not coming back sooner, that much he could tell whether they'd lost their old intimacy or not. More anger welled up at the thought of Vanya believing the notion that he'd _wanted_ to stay away all those years when really, all he'd wanted to begin with was to find a place to hide. For both of them.

"You think I didn't try everything to get back to my family?" He dropped his voice to a low murmur as he asked that question, narrowing his eyes at Vanya. Hadn't it occurred to her that _she_ was his family—the only real family he had? He'd been trying to get back to them for years—back to _her_. His goal had been to run away with her at first, though now he had to stop the end of the world and she definitely couldn't care for him in the same way that she used to.

Didn't she ever stop to think that it hurt him like hell, being torn away from her like this even when they were in the same room? Obviously she hadn't, or they wouldn't be having this conversation.

Vanya sighed, and Five could have sworn her eyes flicked up and down his body, as if she was evaluating him. She was silent for a long time before she finally answered him—with another question, no less. "If you grew old there… you know, in the apocalypse… how come you still look like a kid?"

Five leaned back up at the ceiling, rolling his eyes once more. "I _told_ you already," he shot back, marching over to the kitchen counter to pour himself more liquor. "I must have got the equations wrong." He didn't look at her as she spoke, as he was too busy with the liquor bottle.

"I mean, Dad always used to say that… time travel could mess up your mind," Vanya replied, her voice shaky. She wasn't used to Five being that angry—at least, not having that anger directed at her. "Well, maybe… that's what's happening?" Vanya winced inwardly, hoping she hadn't just made a bad situation worse, while Five turned around to face her.

His patience with her had run out. Five had hoped that she, the only one of their father's children that he trusted, would be willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but it seemed she was jumping straight to the easy conclusion like any of the others would have. Of course she'd rather assume he was out of his mind than entertain the idea that the world was ending and that he was too old, too broken, to be the same person he was before. She saw the friend she gave up all those years ago, not the ruthless killer he'd become.

Five wasn't sure what would hurt more—Vanya knowing the truth, or refusing to see what was right in front of her.

"This was a mistake," he snapped, turning away and walking towards her apartment door. "You're too young. Too naïve to understand." Five brought his hand to the doorknob, ready to storm out of there. He knew that his relationship with Vanya would be forever altered the moment he walked out the door, and it would add even more pain to the constant clawing in his chest whenever he looked at, thought of, or was physically close to her, but he needed someone who believed him. Anyone who doubted him had to be left behind. There was no time for convincing.

Even if it was Vanya he had to leave behind and it would hurt like bullets to the gut to leave her standing there after him again.

"No, Five. Five, wait," she called out after him. He felt her eyes trained on his back, much like he had the day he left the first time. He froze at the sound of her voice, turning his head back to look at her. Five wasn't going to make the same mistake he had before when he refused to hear her out.

Her eyes were soft, full of that sadness she'd always carried with her when they were young. Her hand was stretched out and her forearm slightly extended, almost as if she'd instinctively tried to reach for him. Vanya let out a soft sigh, voice trembling when she spoke again. "I haven't seen you in a long time, and I don't wanna lose you again. That's all."

Shit. He'd gone and done it now.

There was a brief pause, in which he was too paralyzed by his own fear that he'd said all the wrong things and she gave him a tiny shrug. "And you know what, it's getting late, and I have lessons early. I need to sleep, and I'm sure you do too." Relief crashed over him like a tsunami wave—she'd forgiven him for almost leaving a second time. For now.

Vanya crossed over to her living room sofa, grabbing hold of a blanket that had been draped over the back, and laying it over the couch cushions for him. "Here."

She was offering him a place to sleep. Here, in a home that felt more real, more alive, than the Academy ever had. Five couldn't help but stare at Vanya as she leaned down to adjust the blanket. He wished that things were different and he didn't look like a child and maybe, if he'd never left, this place would have already been his home. The best he could hope for now was to one day call it home, though he couldn't while the world was still on the brink of ending. And even if he saved the world, he doubted that calling this place home would ever happen, especially while he was trapped in the body of the child he'd once been.

Then Vanya looked over at him, breaking him from his thoughts with that damn near hypnotizing look of hers. "We'll talk in the morning again, okay?" She murmured, rising to her feet. "I promise."

The ache of loss kept clawing at his chest. Unbeknownst to her, he didn't have time for more conversation after tonight. He had things to do if he was going to keep the world from ending. Even so, he nodded. The least he could do was indicate that he'd talk to her, even if it wasn't when she expected. Once he'd stopped the apocalypse, there would be plenty of time to talk.

"Night," Vanya whispered as she walked past him, obviously heading to her room. She paused for a moment as she walked beside him, turning to give him a parting glance. Before he could stop himself, Five reached forward and grabbed ahold of her wrist. "Vanya."

Her eyes widened in surprise at his sudden movement. "Five? Are you okay?" He didn't answer her question, only took another step forward. Before she could move away, Five wrapped his free arm around her waist, pulling her into a hug. Vanya stiffened, but didn't pull away as he wrapped both of his arms around her and brought his chin up to rest on her shoulder. Finally she reciprocated, gently setting her arms on Five's back. A small part of him was tempted to tilt his head to the side and press his lips to her cheek, but overall his self-control wasn't _that_ good and he had no idea how she'd react to such an overt display of affection, so he left things at that.

After about a minute, Five felt her grip on him loosen. He removed himself from the embrace before she could pull away herself, but caught her hand with his own for a moment, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Goodnight, Vanya."

Vanya blinked at him in surprise, then swallowed hard and nodded. "G'night." He let go of her hand without complaint and let her leave, his eyes never leaving her as she shuffled down the hallway and into the bedroom. Five was only able to tear his eyes away when she closed the door behind her, and he headed back to the couch, flopping down with a heavy sigh. He removed a false eye from his pocket, turning it over to examine the company name and serial number printed on it.

Five waited a few minutes to make sure Vanya wouldn't hear him slip out, then slowly edged open the door to her apartment. He took a last look around the place, admiring its clutter and inherent softness, eyes lingering a bit too long on her violin as he recalled all the times he'd listened to her play. A pang of regret stung him.

_Sorry, V. I need to save the world before I can get used to living in it again_, he thought as he slipped through the door, despite knowing she couldn't hear his apology. _I'll see you on the other side of the apocalypse. _

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

In another part of the city, a taxi pulled up outside a dingy motel. The two passengers inside it wasted no time in getting out, heading straight for the entrance to collect their room keys. The passengers were there on business and had no time for chitchat, so they paid the driver without so much as a word. A man and a woman in stiff blue button-up suits, with the latter carrying a bulky briefcase, were what the man at the front desk saw when the passengers from the taxi walked in.

The woman entered ahead of her companion. She was older, perhaps in her late forties, with dark copper skin and a short, no-nonsense haircut that reached her chin. The man who stood behind her looked younger—mid-thirties or so—and somewhat heavier, with short, dark curly hair and a messy beard. The woman marched up to the counter and spoke before the employee could even get up from his seat, folding her hands in front of her as she did so. "Reservation for Hazel and Cha-Cha."

The employee regarded them quizzically and a bit cautiously, then slowly rose from his chair and let out a tired sigh while he checked the computer behind the counter. There was a moment of tense eye contact, then he must have decided that they matched the ID photos, for he placed a single room key on the counter. "There you go. Room 225."

The woman, Cha-Cha, gave him a sharp stare that followed with a look of bewilderment. "What about the other room?" He glanced back at his computer and shrugged. "Uh, only one room was booked."

Hazel, her companion, let out a frustrated huff and rolled his eyes, leaning on the briefcase he'd set on the counter. "Damn it. I'm sick of this cost-cutting bullshit." Cha-Cha paid him no mind, only focused on the employee. "Just tell me there's two beds."

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am." Then a sigh. "So, how long do you think you'll be staying with us?" She wasted no time in answering, as curt and clipped as she'd always been. "Just the one night. I believe there's a package waiting for us." The employee nodded, recalling the mail that had been dropped off, and disappeared into the back room to retrieve it.

He returned with a fairly large cardboard box, the lid tied down with string. It rattled as he all but slammed it onto the counter, and Cha-Cha took it from him without a word and exited through the front door with Hazel behind her. Neither of them responded when he bid them goodnight, but the employee couldn't bring himself to care as he slumped back into his chair, rolling his eyes. He'd seen weirder travelers.

* * *

Elsewhere, sirens wailed. Crime scene units and officers had closed off the donut shop, and yet no one had taken notice of the blinking tracker chip on the pavement of the parking lot.

And inside, a New York City detective was examining a particularly perplexing crime scene, involving a high body count, a lot of bullet holes, and a shot-up dining area. She paced around the main floor, bending down over the bodies—men dressed in all black and carrying assault rifles. The detective tugged at the collar of her dark blue coat, adjusting her ponytail out of habit as she walked around. "Well, this is a once-in-a-blue-moon type of situation, I'd say."

Her partner nodded grimly, taking a few steps towards her. "I'm inclined to agree." She gave him a tiny nod, continuing to take in the crime scene. "Same gun on every vic, all in fours. All the casings are .223s." She looked back over at her partner and smirked. "Know what I think? I think these idiots all shot each other."

She cracked a small smile, earning a chuckle from her partner as they walked around the room. He nodded, gesturing towards the corpses. "And stabbed. One in the throat, one in the eye, and…" he joined her at her spot on the floor, crouching over the body of the man whose neck Five had broken. "This guy got his neck snapped. All quick and efficient kills." She nodded.

"These guys were definitely professionals. Dumb, but professionals." He smirked and nodded in agreement as they both rose to their feet, and she asked a question. "Any witnesses?"

Another nod and a sigh. "Yes. One." Her partner pointed to a corner table, where a waitress in a bright pink uniform sat, glancing around nervously. Even from a distance, the detective could see the other woman's hands shaking. "It happened during her shift."

The detective winced in sympathy. "Well, that's lousy luck." Not waiting for a response from her partner, she walked towards the table, calling out to the waitress. "Ma'am?" When the woman turned her head, the detective managed a friendly smile. "I'm Detective Patch."

Patch got a smile in return. "Hi. I'm Agnes. Agnes Rofa. Oh, did you want a last name?" Patch shrugged, lowering herself into a seat across from Agnes. "I'll take it if you'll give it." The detective let out a sigh.

"Did you see what happened here?" Agnes shook her head, tapping her fingers restlessly against the table. "No, not exactly." Her voice was quiet and raspy, and she was clearly still shaken up. Patch nodded in understanding. "Let's start at the top. Okay?"

"Okay," Agnes replied, sighing. "Well, it was a slow night. It was quiet. My last two customers were this… older guy and—and his kid. The guy had a dough—no, that's not right." She cut herself off, shaking her head. "The guy had an éclair, and the kid had… coffee. And he ordered a donut to take with him, I remember." She paused, fingers fiddling with her hair. "I went into the back room, just to get some more change. But then I heard his truck start up. They… drove away."

"I heard shots," she went on. "I hid under the desk, and by the time I got back in here…" her voice cracked. "Everyone was… was, you know—"

Patch nodded, not wanting her to continue if it upset her. "Was there anyone else in the shop?" Agnes shook her head, biting her lip. "No, I… I don't think so."

Then Agnes let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, not to be rude, cause you seem super sweet, but… do I have to go through all this again?" Patch tilted her head, confused by the question. "Again?" Agnes nodded. "Well, I already told the other detective everything."

_Oh boy_. If it was who she suspected it was…

"What other detective?" She asked haltingly. Agnes explained everything to her, and by the time she was done, Detective Patch was ready to strangle a man—a specific one.

_Diego Hargreeves, I am _so_ gonna kill you_.

She caught up with him at the back exit, skulking around and smirking and twirling a knife in his fingers like he was some kind of badass. Smug bastard. The easy expression on his face melted away when he saw her standing there with crossed arms, replaced by what she'd always dubbed his "caught red-handed" look. She wasted no time in coming up to him, not even pausing as he started to run his mouth.

"Shit. Hang on, let me—"

Patch hit him in the chest with her taser before he could so much as utter the word "explain". He groaned and crumpled to his knees, and she had to smile when he landed facedown on the pavement. _Gotcha_.

She escorted him away from the scene in handcuffs, jerking him around and yelling at him all the while. "You don't talk to my witnesses, understand?" He grinned annoyingly, completely ignoring her question. "Let me get you up to speed, Eudora." The detective rolled her eyes. "Don't call me that."

"Right, Detective Patch. What, are we gonna keep things professional?" He finished off his quip with a slight chuckle, and for that she almost punched him. Even so, she had to smirk at him as she positioned him across from her and started to search him. "I don't know if we ever agreed on much." He grinned in response. "We agreed on some things."

"Did we really, though?"

She huffed, pulling a small radio from his pocket. "I'm confiscating this." Diego shrugged, seemingly unfazed. "Military surplus, practically giving them away." Then she held up his fake badge. "And this." He smirked again. "No skin, super cheap, bought it on eBay."

Eudora grabbed ahold of the domino mask tucked away inside his jacket, trying very hard not to laugh at him. "That you can keep." She shoved it back inside his pocket, and he let out a laugh. "You used to like that."

"Not anymore," she shot back, giving him a firm stare. Then she grabbed ahold of his arm and started to lead him farther away from the crime scene and towards a cop car. "Also, stop messaging me on Twitter. It's getting annoying."

He ignored that last comment and changed the subject. "By the way, this whole thing might look like a botched robbery, but my gut's telling me something else is going on here." He turned to face her as they reached the car. "Look, the waitress, she mentioned that Ishmael's Tow Truck guy; maybe they saw something."

Eudora sighed, and for a moment she almost pitied him. "You're not police, Diego, remember?" He gave her a sardonic half-smile and nodded as she shoved him into the back of the squad car. "Yeah, I know." His tone was casual and flippant, even a bit annoyed, but she _knew_ him. She had to make sure he got the point. "Do you? Because you show up and act like you can be a part of this," she paused and slammed the car door shut, "and you can't. Not anymore."

He gave her an almost pleading look. "I'm good at this. You know I can help you." Eudora rolled her eyes. "_I_ know you give me agita." She sighed. "I do not need—I do not _want_ your help! Okay?" Then she tapped the roof of the squad car, signaling for the driver to get moving. Without another word, she turned her back on Diego and headed back toward the crime scene, glancing upward with an exasperated sigh. "Lord, you test me."

Unbeknownst to her, two colleagues in suits stood just outside the crime scene, where the tracker chip still gave off a signal, watching her.

* * *

Luther woke up in the morning to a pair of wide brown eyes staring into his own and Claire giving him a huge grin. "Good morning, uncle Luther!" He gasped in shock and sat bolt upright, with Claire hopping backwards and out of the way. "Sorry if I scared you," she said with a giggle. "I just wanted to be here when you woke up."

"Good morning," he said with a groan, rubbing his eyes. Across the hall, he heard Allison call out. "Claire, honey, I told you not to wake him!"

"I didn't!" Claire shot back. "I just stood there until he woke up on his own!" Luther had to suppress a smile at that, and he thought he heard Allison laugh. "That still counts as waking him up!"

"No it doesn't!"

Luther chuckled, climbing out of the bed to put on his coat. Claire planted herself on the mattress, watching his every move, and reminded him to watch his head when he almost hit the model airplane hanging from the ceiling. As he pushed open the bedroom door, Claire ran ahead of him, taking his hand in her own before he could react. She pulled him along to her mother's room, giggling the entire time. Allison gave an apologetic smile when she caught sight of him in the doorway, which he easily returned. He stopped for a moment, unable to seep himself from noticing that she looked pretty with the sunlight catching her hair like that. Then he looked down at the floor, reminding himself that it was all in the past now.

"Hey." The greeting was casual, but Allison's expression was warm as Luther entered the room. Claire all but bounced into the room, only stopping when Allison turned toward her and reminded her to start packing her bag. Claire obliged without complaint and Luther stepped further into her bedroom, letting out a sigh. "You know, it's funny. I've had the same routine for the last four years, and now that i'm back down here, I'm… not quite sure what to do with myself."

Allison let out a slight chuckle and nodded in understanding. "I know the feeling. Upheaval, I mean." Luther gave a tiny nod, then smiled. "Well, you two must be eager to get back home, huh?" Claire shrugged, busy stuffing clothes into her briefcase.

"I wanted to spend more time with you guys," Claire murmured, sounding a little dejected, and Luther's face fell. "Oh. I didn't realize."

Allison set her hand on top of his own, and Luther almost flinched. "Our flight doesn't leave for quite a while, but… you could always go back with us." She chuckled. "I could show you Hollywood, maybe introduce you to some friends. I know a guy who could get us close to the sign." Allison was smiling and her tone sounded light and playful, but one look in her eyes told Luther all he needed to know.

She was pleading with him, all but begging him to stay with her. The way she had almost a decade ago, when they were nineteen, almost twenty, and she'd landed a job in California and two plane tickets and she was _finally_ leaving their childhood behind but didn't want to do it alone. He'd chosen their father over her that time.

As much as he didn't want to make that mistake again, there were things he needed to do. "I don't know, Allison," he said softly. "It's… not exactly my scene." He underscored that statement with a quiet laugh. "And I can't just forget about Dad's missing monocle."

Allison sighed, walking across the room to stand in front of him. "Dad died because his heart gave out, Luther," she said gently. "Don't turn his death into a mission." He regarded her with bewilderment, and a bit of shock that she thought he was grasping at straws. "Is that what you think this is?"

She set a hand on his shoulder, regarding him sadly. "I think there's a reason why you never left." Allison glanced behind him, presumably at Claire, then turned her attention back on him. "You don't have to decide now. The flight isn't until tonight, and I was going to take Claire to see Vanya this afternoon." Luther nodded, and Allison laced her fingers together, the way she always did when she had an idea.

"Do you… wanna get breakfast with us? I looked it up, there's a place that serves pancakes just a few blocks from here. Might be fun." Allison smiled again, and Claire ran over, bouncing on her feet excitedly. "Yeah, uncle Luther! Please, will you come with us?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "Thank you, but I have some things I really need to do." Allison regarded him with sad eyes, but nodded in seeming acceptance of his answer. "Okay. Just… think about LA, would you?"

Before Luther could reply, Allison walked past him and out of her room, leaving him alone with Claire. She headed in the same direction as her mother, but stopped in the doorway to look up at him. "Hey, Claire," he murmured. "You okay?"

"I think Mommy really missed you," she said thoughtfully, then sighed. "She always gets kind of sad whenever she talks about you." Then, Claire took off down the hallway after Allison, leaving him to mull that over. Luther, of course, had an idea of why Allison would miss him, but he could never breathe a word of it to Claire.

_I loved her, and she loved me. Then I left her. I think I… broke her heart._ If Claire had been older, he might have said that to her. But she was still a young child, and he didn't want to confuse her any more than she probably already was, considering that her parents had split up. Some part of him wondered why, but he also knew it was not his place to ask.

All he knew was, Allison moving on with her life had hurt like hell—though he could never be angry with her for it. It was his own fault. He should have left with her when she asked the first time. And this time, he had a puzzle to solve before he could leave the Academy behind.

As much as he wanted to give in to his own wants, he still had a duty to the Academy and the world, before anything else.

But he wouldn't deny that leaving Allison hurt.

* * *

Klaus jolted awake to the ghosts' screams. He sat up on the ornate couch that he'd collapsed onto the day before, gasping for air. The first sight that greeted him was Ben, seated on a plush loveseat opposite of him as he examined a newspaper with a raised eyebrow. "You know you talk in your sleep?" Klaus barely acknowledged him, opting instead to crawl across the floor towards his bag in search of more pills.

"There's no point; you're out of drugs," Ben quipped. Klaus whirled on his brother, snapping, "shut your piehole, Ben!" Then a pause, and Klaus smiled. "Said with love." He blew a kiss in his brother's direction, who rolled his eyes and grinned sarcastically.

"I've got a crazy idea," Ben went on. "Why not try staring your day with a glass of orange juice, or some eggs?" His brother sighed. "Can't smoke eggs," Klaus replied as he lit up a cigarette.

Klaus was examining the china cabinet for anything of value when Claire walked in—he wasn't aware of her presence until she spoke. "Uncle Klaus?" Her small voice made Ben light up in a smile even though she couldn't see him. Klaus, however, almost jumped out of his skin, turning to face her.

"Christ on a cracker! Claire?" He regarded her with total bewilderment, likely a remnant of the previous night's high. She nodded. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you."

Klaus shook his head, smiling easily. "No, it's okay, sweetie. Could've been way worse. Anyway, um…" he cleared his throat. "What are you doing in here? Where's your mom?"

"Oh, she forgot to get our bags. Told me to wait by the door." Claire grinned. "And this way I get to say hi to you!" Klaus chuckled, sharing a look with Ben—who seemed just as delighted to see Claire as he was. Then, what his niece just said hit him, and he frowned. "Wait. You're leaving?"

She sighed and nodded. "Yeah. We're gonna get breakfast, then Mommy is taking me to see auntie Vanya. We might come back here before our flight, but I don't know for sure." Then Claire lit up, like she'd just thought of a brilliant idea. "Hey, do you wanna come with us? I'm sure Mommy won't mind."

Klaus chuckled lightly and shook his head. "I appreciate the invitation, but I have some plans of my own." Ben glared at him, shaking his head in disapproval. "Really? You're saying no because you just wanna go get high? What's wrong with you?"

"Drop dead," Klaus hissed at Ben, who shot him a look of mock offense. "Low blow."

Claire frowned, staring at him intently. "Uncle Klaus?" _Oh shit_, he thought. _Here it comes. She's gonna ask about Ben._ "Yes?" He replied, doing his best to keep his voice steady. Klaus was steeling himself for the question he was expecting, which was why the actual question she asked took him completely by surprise.

"Are you wearing any pants?"

Klaus froze, the first syllable dying on his lips. Then a sigh and popping his lips. "Well… no, I am not. Why do you ask?" Claire shrugged, grinning. "Just wondering. You should probably get dressed before anyone else sees you, though." Then she fixed him with a firm stare. "You're not naked, are you?"

"Of _course_ not," he shot back. "I'm not an animal." Ben let out a snort while Claire giggled. "That's debatable," Ben teased, and Klaus reached over to cuff him around the head, even though he knew it wouldn't work. "Shut up, man!"

Claire studied the seemingly empty space on the couch. "Who are you talking to, uncle Klaus? Is it…" she gulped. "Is it a ghost? Mommy said you could talk to them." Klaus sighed and nodded, leaning over the couch. "You remember the statue in the courtyard yesterday? At the funeral?"

When Claire nodded, he continued. "That is a statue of your uncle Ben. He… he died a long time ago, before you were born. And he's in the room right now."

"Can he see me?" She asked, and Klaus nodded. "Yes, and he wanted me to tell you that he's glad he got to finally meet you." As Klaus spoke, Ben nodded in agreement, still smiling at Claire.

Just then, Allison strode into the room and called out for Claire to follow her. Both women bid him a brief goodbye, leaving Klaus alone in time for Pogo to show up and confront him about items stolen from Reginald Hargreeves' office.

* * *

Elsewhere, Vanya woke up to an empty apartment, while Number Five waited in the lobby of a medical manufacturing company. The building was far too pristine with its whitewashed walls and marble floors and colorless furniture for his tastes—it wouldn't have mattered, but the brightness was so blinding it almost gave him a headache. He spun in a slow circle, inspecting the mannequins with prosthetic limbs.

It didn't take long for someone to notice him—a teenager in a school uniform stuck out like a sore thumb in that place. A technician in a long white lab coat called out to him, "Can I help you?"

Five turned around and walked up to the man, holding up the prosthetic eye. "I need to know who this belongs to." The technician raised an eyebrow at the sight. "Where'd you get that?"

"What do you care?" Five shot back, growing annoyed. He almost wanted to scream at the man that he didn't have time for inane questions while they were on the brink of the apocalypse, but he doubted _that_ approach would end in any way besides being escorted out in a straitjacket. He frowned, as if in thought. "I… I found it. At a playground, actually. Must have just—" he clicked his tongue for emphasis, turning the eye over in his hand—"popped out." Five gave the man a false smile and was given immense satisfaction from the way he unnerved the other man—if his facial expression was any indicator of his mood.

"I wanna return it to its rightful owner," Five went on. The receptionist, seated at her desk a few feet away, gave him a smile. "Aww, what a thoughtful young man." Any other day and Five would be annoyed by the condescension, but charm was his best weapon in this department. So he flashed the woman a grin and nodded. "Yeah, look up the name for me, will ya?"

The technician sighed. "Uh, I'm sorry, but patient records are strictly confidential. That means I can't tell you—"

Five huffed. "Yeah, I know what it means." The other man nodded, unperturbed by the interruption of his spiel. "But, I'll tell you what I can do. I will take the eye off your hands and return it to the owner. I'm sure he or she will be very grateful, so if I can just—"

The tech reached for the prosthetic, and Five pulled his hand back. "Yeah, you're not touching this eye." In a blink, the tech's manner shifted from friendly to stern, and he held up one finger as he spoke to Five. "Now, you listen here, young man—"

Five cut him off by lunging forward, grabbing the man by his lapels. His victim let out a startled grunt, but couldn't say anything else as Five started talking. "No, you listen to _me_, asshole. I've come a long way for this, through some shit your pea brain couldn't even comprehend, so just give me the information I need, and I'll be on my merry way." He leaned closer, grinning in a way that was more a show of his teeth than anything. "And if you call me 'young man' _one_ more time, I'm gonna put your head through that damn wall!"

"Oh, dear," the receptionist said, slowly reaching for the phone at her desk. "Call security," the tech rasped, and in an instant the receptionist had grabbed ahold of the receiver and was dialing numbers. Five, who knew that sometimes it was best to quit while ahead, released his grip on the man and stormed off.

There'd be another way to get into those patient records. He just had to be more subtle.

And then he remembered what Vanya had said to him the night before, and while he didn't want to risk it, a small part of him couldn't help but wonder if he was going insane.

* * *

Some time later, while Luther was busy poking around and Diego was arguing with an old friend, Vanya had gone back to the Academy to look for Five. She had no luck on the first floor, so her next guess was his old room. She headed up the stairs, pausing in the hallways. She could almost see her memories playing out before her, like holograms or ghosts of the past, and she had to smile at the thought.

Her and Five in the upper sitting room. She was playing the violin while he alternated between watching and sketching something on a sheet of paper. It was calm and quiet, a strange sort of intimacy that they had no name for but wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

Talking with him in the hallway the day the others got their tattoos, showing him the umbrella she'd drawn on herself. She remembered him running a thumb over her wrist, keeping it at her pulse point. The raspy "thank you" she'd gotten from him after she reminded him that they would always face things together.

A game of chase through the hallways that she couldn't win—Five kept teleporting closer to her no matter how much she told him off for cheating. It had ended with him catching up to her and winding his arms around her waist, sending both of them crashing to the floor in a fit of laughter.

As much as her childhood had pained her, she missed those moments with Five. Her best friend, who had made her first thirteen years at the Academy bearable. She'd only lasted four more years after he left thanks to Ben's kindness—and then his death at age seventeen gave her the courage to leave home for good. She abandoned their home the week after he died, and Reginald showed no signs that he was looking for her. He didn't care that she was gone—and that was just fine with her.

She all but ran up to the third floor after that, only stopping when she came to Five's bedroom doorway and saw him staring out the window. "Oh, thank God," Vanya gasped, and he turned back to look at her as she spoke. "I was worried sick about you." _Worried you left me again_, she thought, but didn't say.

"Sorry I left without saying goodbye," Five murmured, looking up at her with such a clouded look in his eyes that she couldn't help but wonder if he was apologizing for the first time he left, too.

She sighed, an old ache welling up in her chest at the sight of those sad eyes. "No, look, I'm the one that should be sorry." He stepped closer to her as she spoke, and Vanya knew that with anyone else her voice would have faltered, but not around him. "I was dismissive, and… I guess I didn't know how to process what you were saying. And I still can't, to be honest."

Five gave her an almost imperceptible nod. "Maybe you were right to be dismissive." He chuckled to himself, turning to poke at his old desk. "Maybe it wasn't real after all. It felt, real, but, well…" Absently, he pushed an old toy car across the wood, then turned back towards Vanya, giving her a rare, genuine smile. "Like you said, the old man did say time travel could contaminate the mind."

Vanya faltered, considering that, then nodded. "Then maybe I'm not the right person for you to be talking to. Look, I used to see someone. A therapist. I could give you her information."

Five looked away from her, sighing. "Thanks, but… I think I'm just gonna get some rest. It's been a long time since I had a good sleep." Vanya smiled sympathetically and nodded. Any other time she might have asked him where he was all night, but what he needed was rest and not another fight. "Okay," she said softly, turning around to leave.

When she got to the doorway, Vanya was stopped by the sound of his voice. "Oh, and Vanya?" When she turned back to look at him, something flickered across his tired, bloodshot eyes. Pain. "For what it's worth… I'm glad to have you back. I missed you."

She smiled again, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, me too." Then Vanya turned and all but ran out of the room before either one of them could say anything they'd regret later. Her mind ran ahead of her as she trotted down the stairs, tears stinging her eyes even as she blinked them back—all of that time being apart from him only made his return hurt more, if she was honest. He still looked like a child, even though it was obvious he wasn't one, whereas she had grown up—a harsh reminder that things could never be the same as they were before, even if they tried to make it work.

Then she stumbled on Allison waiting for her in the parlor, and did her best to push her troubles out of her mind. Her sister was staring down at her cell phone numbly, and she looked close to tears. "Hey, sis," Vanya said softly. "What's wrong?"

Meanwhile, upstairs, Klaus all but fell out of Five's wardrobe. "Well, _that_ was a close one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m BACK, baby! I hope you enjoyed this new installment. Let e know in the comments. ^_^
> 
> P.S. I’m aware the ending feels a bit abrupt, but its purpose was to set the tone for the opening of the next chapter.
> 
> In Chapter 5: Five seeks help from an unorthodox source, Vanya bonds with her sister and niece, and Claire has some secrets of her own.


End file.
